SECTION VII. THE ROSE. How fair is the rose! what a beautiful flow'r! But the leaves are beginning to fade in an hour, Yet the rose has one pow'rful virtue to boast, When its leaves are all dead, and fine colours lost, So frail is the youth, and the beauty of man, Tho' they bloom and look gay like the rose; For all our fond care to preserve them is vain ; Time kills them as fast as he goes. Then I'll not be proud of my youth or my beauty, But gain a good name by performing my duty; SECTION VIII. WATTS. THE ANTS. THESE emmets, how little they are in our eyes! We tread them to dust, and a troop of them dies, Without our regard or concern : Yet as wise as we are, if we went to their school, Some lessons of wisdom might learn. They don't wear their time out in sleeping or play, And for winter they lay up their stores : They manage their work in such regular forms, One would think they foresaw all the frosts and the storms; And so brought their food within doors. But I have less sense than a poor creeping ant, When death or old age shall stare in my face, Now, now, while my strength and my youth are in bloom, Let me think what will serve me when sickness shall come, And pray that my sins are forgiv❜n : Let me read in good books, and believe and obey, That, when death turns me out of this cottage of clay, I may dwell in a palace in Heav'n. WATTS. SECTION IX. A MORNING HYMN. My God, who makes the sun to know And to give light to all below, Does send him round the skies. When from the chambers of the east He never tires, nor stops to rest ; So like the sun would I fulfil Give me, O Lord, thy early grace, That the young morning of my days Has all been spent in vain. SECTION X. AN EVENING HYMN. AND now another day is gone, I'll sing my Maker's praise : My comforts ev'ry hour make known, WATTS. But how my childhood runs to waste! I lay my body down to sleep; With cheerful heart I close my eyes, SECTION XI. THE HAPPY CHOICE. Beset with snares on ev'ry hand, Engage this frail and wav'ring heart, Then let the wildest storms arise; WATTS If thou, my father! still art nigh, DODDRID GE. SECTION XII. THE FALL OF THE LEAF. SEE the leaves around us falling, Sons of Adam, (once in Eden, Virgins, much, too much presuming Youths, tho' yet no losses grieve you, Yearly in our course returning, |