My times are in thy hand, I know;
And if I’m washed in Jesus’ blood,
Though dark my pathway here below,
It leads directly up to God.
Since all thy children chastening need,
And all so called must feel the rod,
Why for exemption should I plead,
For am I not thy child, my God?
Ah why go mourning all the day,
Or why should I from trials shrink?
Though much of sorrow’s in my cup,
The cup that I am called to drink.
’Tis needful medicine I know,
By the most skilful hand prepared,
Strictly proportioned to my wants,
There’s not a drop that can be spared.
Then why desponding, oh my soul,
Because of trials here below?
They’re all appointed by my God,
My times are in thy hand, I know.
Jan. 18, 1863.
Remember the poor, in the dark chilly day,
When November’s loud winds are fierce blowing;
Remember the poor, at thy plentiful board,
When the fire on thy bright hearth is glowing.
Remember the poor in yon damp dismal shed,
Without food, fire, or clothing to warm them;
And not like the Priest or the Levite pass by,
But Samaritan like stop and cheer them.
Remember the slave, the poor down trodden slave,
And do all in thy power to relieve him;
And when from oppression he strives to be free,
Do thou open thy gate to receive him.
For what saith the Lord is thy duty to such,
“To his master thou shalt not return him,"
But give him a home near thy own if he likes,
And be sure not to vex or oppress him.
When parents or children or brethren you meet,
In our happy New England and free,
Then remember the slave, the heart broken slave,
For thy brother, thy brother is he.
Remember him also when prayer for thyself,
In affliction’s dark hour doth ascend;
And when crying to God the father of all,
Let his wants with thine own kindly blend.
And at the last day, when the rich and the poor
Shall alike by the Judge be regarded;
When master and slave shall appear before God,
And a sentence impartial awarded,—
The cup of cold water He will not forget,
But with other good acts bring to mind;
“When naked ye clothed me, when hungry ye fed,”
Will be uttered in accents most kind.
But when, blessed Saviour, ah when was the time,
That we fed, clothed, or visited thee?
“Such acts,” He replies, “to my poor brethren done,
I consider as done unto me.”
 See Deuteronomy, 23:15, 16.