Not always will the sky pour down,
From sullen clouds, these sluicy rains;
Which every pleasing landskip drown,
And sadden and deform the plains.

Not always shall the forest groan
With shatt'ring winds; the mourning trees
Ever their leafless arms bemoan:
Nor storm perpetual vex the seas.

On rugged winter treads the spring,
That gentle season of delight:
And darkness flees before the wing
Of morn, infus'd in golden light.

Thus in the varying times of man,
Which God's eternal counsel guides;
Smiles follow weeping, in the plan,
By law unerring as the tides.

Should now the Heav'n-directed wheel
Aloft our adverse moments raise;
Onward, behind, the prosp'ring steal,
Promise of joy-revolving days.

Mortal, adapt thy pliant mind
To all the changes that are giv'n;
Wisely rejoicing, or resign'd,
Ne'er strive against the schemes of Heav'n.