The cries of true religion beckon us

The cries of true religion beckon us,
Yet grief and tears cloud all the time with pain
That only grows and stays: it does not wane
Within the cloudy night obscured. Unless
From God's own sovereign hand this were a test
To strengthen us, through three-fold trial constrain
The flesh, I could not find this dying gain,
Nor by the Spirit say His way is best
For us. For nowhere else to turn we find,
No other way so sure as suff'ring through
The pain of widows, orphans; though inclined
I am to help some easy way and do
The lowly good without the grief of mind
And heart, yet grief has made Him lowly, too.