The Disappointment
In
tears
to
her
mother
poor
Harriet
came,
Let
us
listen
to
hear
what
she
says:
"O
see,
dear
mamma,
it
is
pouring
with
rain,
We
cannot
go
out
in
the
chaise.
"All
the
week
I
have
long'd
for
this
holiday
so,
And
fancied
the
minutes
were
hours;
And
now
that
I'm
dress'd
and
all
ready
to
go,
Do
look
at
those
terrible
showers!
"
"I'm
sorry,
my
dear,
"
her
kind
mother
replied,
The
rain
disappoints
us
to-day;
But
sorrow
still
more
that
you
fret
for
a
ride,
In
such
an
extravagant
way.
"These
slight
disappointments
are
sent
to
prepare
For
what
may
hereafter
befall;
For
seasons
of
real
disappointment
and
care,
Which
commonly
happen
to
all.
"For
just
like
to-day
with
its
holiday
lost,
Is
life
and
its
comforts
at
best:
Our
pleasures
are
blighted,
our
purposes
cross'd,
To
teach
us
it
is
not
our
rest.
"And
when
those
distresses
and
crosses
appear,
With
which
you
may
shortly
be
tried,
You'll
wonder
that
ever
you
wasted
a
tear
On
merely
the
loss
of
a
ride.
"But
though
the
world's
pleasures
are
fleeting
and
vain,
Religion
is
lasting
and
true;
Real
pleasure
and
peace
in
her
paths
you
may
gain,
Nor
will
disappointment
ensue.
"
