Each wrong desire subdue;
And serve my maker as I ought,
And Thou would'st have me do.
Oh, could I discipline my mind,
To seek the heavenly goal;
Nor strive, in earthly things, to find
A treasure for the soul.
Then should my lips no more complain,
('Tis sin that makes my grief;)
But Thou, that givest ease for pain,
Would'st quickly bring relief.
Ascendant over time and sense,
My feet would upward move,
Protected by thy Providence,
Rejoicing in thy love.
— American Cottage Life (1850)
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