228 THE POEMS OF ANNE �The Righteous, are the Lord's peculiar care, To him, for refuge, the poor Widdows come, �The Fatherlesse, is God's adopted Heir, �The stranger too, in God, is sure to find an home. �Those that are fallen, he again erects, �The wicked, that persue ungodly ways, He searches out, he frustrates, and detects, �He ruines their designs, and on them builds his praise. �Thy Lord, O Sion! this, thy Lord, is King; �Throughout all ages, shall his reign endure, Thou, Everlasting praise, may'st to him sing, �And ever may'st thou rest, beneath his love, secure. �GOLD IS TRY'D IN THE FIRE, AND ACCEPTABLE MEN IN THE TIME OF ADVERSITY �If all th' appointed days of man were fair, �And his few hours, mov'd o're him, like a breeze, That gently plays among the trees, �Soft, and smooth, and void of care, �As infants balmy slumber are, �How, shou'd we then assured bee, That even temper, we might see, Were Vertue, not prosperity. �Not so, th' Almighty wisdom has design'd, We shou'd in ease, and luxury remain, Untry'd by sorrow, or by pain. �No, the searcher of the mind, �Unshaken vertue, there must find, Tho' low, as to the dunghill brought, With him, whose sifted patience taught, He serv'd for Duty, else for naught. ��� �
