Peace way-ward soul! Let those various storms
Which hourly fill the world with fresh Alarms
Invade thy peace: nor discompose that Rest
Which thou maist keep untoucht within thy Brest
Amid those whirlwinds, if thou keep but free
The Intercourse betwixt thy God and thee
Thy region lies above these storms: and know
Thy thoughts are earthly, and they creep too Low
If these can reach thee, or access can find,
To bring or raise disorders something Lies,
But yet in these disorders
That’s worth thy notice, out of which the Wise
May trace and find that just and powerful hand
That secretly, but surely doth command,
And manage these distempers with that skill
That while they seem to cross, they act his will
Observe that silver thread, that steers and bends
The worst of all disorders, to such ends,
That speak his justice, goodness, Providence,
Who closely guides it by his Influence,
And though these storms are loud, yet listens well,
There is another message that they tell
This world is not thy country; ’tis thy way
Too much contentment would invite thy stay
Too long upon the journey; make it strange,
Unwelcome news, to think upon a Change
Whereas this rugged entertainment sends
Thy thoughts before thee to thy journey’s end;
Chides thy desires homewards: tells the pain,
To think of resting here it is but in vain;
Makes thee to set an equal estimate
On this uncertain world, and a just rate
On that to come; it bids the wait and stay
Untill thy master calls, and then with joy
To entertain it such a change as this,
Renders thy Loss, thy Gain; improves thy Bliss.