Now I’m convinced the Lord is kind
To men of heart sincere:
Yet once my foolish thoughts repin’d,
And border’d on despair.
I griev’d to see the wicked thrive,
And spoke with angry breath,
“How pleasant and profane they live,
How peaceful is their death!
“With well-fed flesh and haughty eyes
They lay their fears to sleep;
Against the Heavens their slanders rise,
While saints in silence weep.
“In vain I lift my hands to pray
And cleanse my heart in vain,
For I am chasten’d all the day,
The night renews my pain.”
Yet while my tongue indulg’d complaints,
I felt my heart reprove:
“Sure I shall thus offend thy saints,
And grieve the men I love.”
But still I found my doubts too hard,
The conflict too severe,
Till I retir’d to search thy word,
And learn thy secrets there.
There, as in some prophetic glass,
I saw the sinner’s feet
High mounted on a slippery place,
Beside a fiery pit.
I heard the wretch profanely boast,
Till at thy frown he fell;
His honours in a dream were lost,
And he awakes in hell.
Lord, what an envious fool I was!
How like a thoughtless beast!
Thus to suspect thy promis’d grace,
And think the wicked blest.
Yet I was kept from full despair,
Upheld by power unknown;
That blessed hand that broke the snare,
Shall guide me to thy throne.
Text: History of Jenny Hickling: An Authentic Narrative. Published by the American Tract Society, 150 Nassau-Street, New-York [c. 1825].