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An Acrostic.

Cannot happiness perfect be found on this earth?
How absurd to expect it - sin comes with our birth.
As soon from spring bitter, sweet water procure,
Rich clusters of grapes from the thorn;
Look for figs upon thistles, when seeking for food,
Or bread from the cold flinty stone.
The wealth of the Indies, true peace can't bestow,
The Crown Royal oft presses an aching brow,
E'en in laughter there's madness - mirth coupled with woe.
As true peace in this world, then, can never be found,
Until deep in the heart Christian graces abound,
Give diligent heed to the keeping thy heart;
Unwearied in effort, repel every dart
So dextrously pointed by Satan's black art.
True peace is from Heaven - a child of the skies,
And feeble exertions secure not the prize.
Never falter in duty, but trust in that power
Engaged to support you in each trying hour;
When sinking like Peter amidst the dark wave,
Ever look unto Jesus, almighty to save.
Look to him, live like him, be strong in his might,
Lay thy burden on him, and thy cross he'll make light.
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Submitted on August 03, 2020

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    "An Acrostic." Poetry.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2021. Web. 26 Sep. 2021. <https://www.poetry.com/poem/56154/an-acrostic.>.

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