The hand that sends our trials has, in all, some good design.
Oh, dear!
If we knew all, we might not want our buried lost ones here!
And Jacob Smith, he called last night, but it was not to see
About the cattle or the farm, but this time it was me!
He said he prized me very high, and wished I’d be his wife,
And if I did not he should lead a most unhappy life.
He did not have a selfish thought, but gladly, for my sake,
The care of all my stock and farm he would consent to take—
And, there!