Sonnet Poem by John Bowring

'Tis not Thy terrors, Lord! Thy dreadful frown,
Which keep my step in duty's narrow path;
'Tis not the awful threatenings of Thy wrath,-
But that, in virtue's sacred smile alone
I find or peace or happiness. Thy light,
In all its prodigality, is shed
Upon the worthy and the unworthy head:
And Thou dost wrap in misery's stormy night
The holy as the thankless. All is well;
Thy wisdom has to each his portion given;
Why should our hearts by selfishness be riven?
'Tis vain to murmur-daring to rebel-
Lord! I would fear Thee, tho' I fear'd not hell;
And love Thee, tho' I had no hopes of heaven.