Afflictions past, can no Existence find,
But in the wild Ideas of the Mind:
And why should we for those Misfortunes mourn,
Which have been suffer'd, and can ne'er return?
Those that have weather'd a tempestuous Night,
And find a Calm approaching with the Light,
Will not, unless their Reason they disown,
Still make those Dangers present, that are gone.
What is behind the Curtain, none can see;
It may be Joy, suppose it Misery.
'Tis future still, and that, which is not here,
May never come, or we may never bare.
Therefore the present Ill, alone we ought
To view, in reason, with a troubled Thought:
But, if we may the sacred Pages trust,
He's always , that is always .