And, like a Christian son,
Proved Poverty a happy fate--
Proved Wealth to be a devil's bait,
To lure poor sinners on.

With other sorrows BERNARD coped,
For sorrows came in packs;
His cousins with their housemaids sloped--
His uncles forged--his aunts eloped--
His sisters married blacks.

But BERNARD, far from murmuring
(Exemplar, friends, to us),
Determined to his faith to cling,--
He made the best of everything,
And argued softly thus:

"'Twere harsh my uncles' forging knack
Too rudely to condemn--
My aunts, repentant, may come back,
And blacks are nothing like as black
As people colour them!"

Still Fate, with many a sorrow rife,
Maintained relentless fight:
His grandmamma next lost her life,
Then died the mother of his wife,
But still he seemed all right.

His brother fond (the only link