Poems by John Clare/Providence
For works with similar titles, see Providence.
PROVIDENCE
Some talk of providence with heedless tongue
That leads to riches and not happiness,
Which is but a new tune for fortune's song,
And one contentment cares not to profess.
It knows her seldom and it shuns her long,
And that kind providence least understood
Hath been my friend that helps me bear with wrong
And learns me out of evil to find good;
To hearten up against the heartless creeds
Of selfish interests leading blindly on,
To make one's poor faith wither 'mid the weeds
Of earth's deceptions; yet when these are gone
A voice within tells peace our one true friend:
And this is providence right worthy to commend.
That leads to riches and not happiness,
Which is but a new tune for fortune's song,
And one contentment cares not to profess.
It knows her seldom and it shuns her long,
And that kind providence least understood
Hath been my friend that helps me bear with wrong
And learns me out of evil to find good;
To hearten up against the heartless creeds
Of selfish interests leading blindly on,
To make one's poor faith wither 'mid the weeds
Of earth's deceptions; yet when these are gone
A voice within tells peace our one true friend:
And this is providence right worthy to commend.