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Home  »  library  »  poem  »  To Myself

C.D. Warner, et al., comp. The Library of the World’s Best Literature.
An Anthology in Thirty Volumes. 1917.

To Myself

By Paul Fleming (1609–1640)

Translation of Catherine Winkworth

LET nothing make thee sad or fretful,

Or too regretful;

Be still;

What God hath ordered must be right;

Then find in it thine own delight,

My will.

Why shouldst thou fill to-day with sorrow

About to-morrow,

My heart?

One watches all with care most true;

Doubt not that he will give thee too

Thy part.

Only be steadfast; never waver,

Nor seek earth’s favor,

But rest:

Thou knowest what God wills must be

For all his creatures, so for thee,

The best.