Amidst these various scenes of ills,

Each stroke some kind design fulfils;

And shall I murmur at my God,

When sovereign love directs the rod?

Peace, rebel thoughts! I’ll not complain,

My Father’s smiles suspend my pain;

Smiles, that a thousand joys impart,

And pour the balm that heals the smart.

Though Heaven afflicts I’ll not repine,

Each heartfelt comfort still is mine;

Comforts that shall o’er death prevail,

And journey with me through the vale.

Dear Jesus, smooth that rugged way,

And lead me to the realms of day,

To milder skies, and lighter plains,

Where everlasting sunshine reigns.

Text: The History of Jenny Hickling: An Authentic Narrative (New York: American Tract Society, [c. 1825]; also Whelan, Nonconformist Women Writers, vol. 7, p. 325.