The Workman To His Wife Poem by John Critchley Prince

Dear wife, we struggle in a time
Saddened by many a shade,
For warfare in another clime
Has paralysed my trade;
And 'mong the thousands of our class,
So meanly clothed and fed,
We've had our share of grief, alas!
Pining for needful bread.

But let us not relax, and fret
As if all hope were gone;
Let us not murmur and forget
The all-sustaining One.
His is the justice, His the power
To chasten and subdue;
But even in the gloomiest hour
His mercy shineth through.

Together let us strive to bear,
With resolute calm will,
The burden of our daily care,
Hoping and trusting still.
As we are human, we must feel
Our portion of distress;
But working with a righteous zeal
Should make our trouble less.

Being but human, we must show
Some frailties and some fears,
Blindly creating needless woe,
And shedding needless tears.
But, O my wife! let thee and me
Refrain from foolish strife,
And so behave that we may be
Heirs to a holier life.

Of sorrow we must bear our part
While in this lower sphere,
But let us keep a loving heart,
And hold each other dear.
Though poverty may keep us down,
Making us sad the while,
Let us not dare God's awful frown,
But pray to gain His smile.