Vicissitude A Blessing Poem by John Bowring

There's good in all the various changes
That man's mortality befall;
And wheresoe'er the spirit ranges,
Death, great reformer! levels all:
The pomp that lifts its horn so proudly,
The wealth that sits with scorn on high,
The eloquence that talks so loudly,
Death's storm sweeps off, and passes by.


There's good in all-and death, that seemeth
Greatest of mysteries, beams with good:
Unwisely of his God he deemeth,
Who, in the mixed vicissitude
Of earthly joys and earthly sorrows,
No all-directing influence sees;
For heaven-excited wisdom borrows
Comfort from all life's mysteries.