As if he would sweep away sorrow,
He says, "Let us keep God's command,
And never take thought for the morrow."

Brisk turning him round with a smile,
And freedom unblended by art,
And affable manners and style,
Though simple, that reached to my heart,
He said (whilst with ardour he glowed),
"Kind sir, we are poor, yet we're blest:
We're all in the steep, narrow road
That leads to the city of rest.

"'Tis true, I must toil all the day,
And oft suffer cold through the night,
Though silvered all over with grey,
And dimly declining my sight:
And sometimes our raiment and food
Are scanty--ah! scanty indeed:
But all work together for good,
So in my blest Bible I read.

"I also have seen in that Book
(Perhaps you can tell me the place?)
How God on poor sinners does look
In pity, and gives them His grace--
Yea, gives them His grace in vast store,
Sufficient to help them quite through,
Though troubles should whelm them all o'er;
And sure this sweet promise is true!