Let no vain cares divert my mind
From this celestial road;

Nor all the pleasures of the earth,
Detain my soul from God.

Think of the splendour of that place,
The joys that are on high;
Nor meanly rest contented here,
With worlds beneath the sky.

Heav'n is the birth-place of the saints,
To Heav'n their souls ascend;
Th' Almighty owns our favour'd race,
As Father and as Friend.

0! may these lovely titles prove
My comfort and defence,

When the sick bed shall be my lot,
And death shall call me hence.

SECTION 7.

Heavenly wisdom.

How happy is the man, who hears
Instruction's warning voice;

And who celestial Wisdom makes
His early, only choice!

For she has treasures greater far,
Than east or west unfold;
And her reward is more secure,
Than is the gain of gold.

M

In her right hand, she holds to view

A length of happy years;

And in her left, the prize of fame
And honour bright appears.

She guides the young, with innocence,
In pleasure's path to tread :
A crown of glory she bestows
Upon the hoary head.

According as her labours rise,

So her rewards increase:

Her ways are ways of pleasantness,
And all her paths are peace.

SECTION 8.

The example of Christ.

BEHOLD, where, in a mortal form,
Appears each grace divine:
The virtues, all in Jesus met,
With mildest radiance shine.

The largest love of human kind
Inspir'd his holy breast;

In deeds of mercy, words of peace,
His kindness was express'd.

To spread the rays of heav'nly light,
To give the mourner joy,

To preach glad tidings to the poor,
Was his divine employ.

Lowly in heart, by all his friends

A friend and servant found;

He wash'd their feet, he wip'd their tears, And heal'd each bleeding wound.

'Midst keen reproach, and cruel scorn,
Patient and meek he stood:

His foes, ungrateful, sought his life;
He labour'd for their good.

In the last hour of deep distress,
Before his Father's throne,

With soul resign'd, he bow'd and said:
"Thy will, not mine, be done!"

Be Christ my pattern, and my guide!
His image may I bear!

O may I tread his sacred steps;
And his bright glories share!

SECTION 9.

Paraphrase on the latter part of the 6th chapter of St. Matthew.

THINK not, when all your scanty stores afford,

Is spread at once upon the sparing board;
Think not, when worn the homely robe appears,
While on the roof, the howling tempest bears;
What farther shall this feeble life sustain,
And what shall clothe these shiv'ring limbs again.
Behold! and cast away your low despair;

See the light tenants of the barren air :

To them, nor stores, nor granaries belong;
Naught, but the woodland, and the pleasing song;
Yet, your kind heav'nly Father bends his eye,
On the least wing that flits along the sky.
To him they sing, when spring renews the plain;
To him they cry, in winter's pinching reign :
He hears the gay, and the distressful call;
And with unsparing bounty fills them all.

Observe the rising lily's snowy grace ;

Observe the various vegetable race :

They neither toil, nor spin, but careless grow;

Yet see how warm they blush! how bright they glow!
What royal vestments can with them compare?
What king so shining; or what queen so fair?

If ceaseless, thus, the fowls of heav'n he feeds;
If o'er the fields such beauteous robes he spreads;
Will he not care for you, ye faithless, say?
Is he unwise? or are ye less than they?

SECTION 10.

Comfort in affliction.

WHY, O my soul, why thus depress'd,

And whence this anxious fear?

Let former favours fix thy trust,
And check the rising tear.

When darkness and when sorrows rose,
And press'd on ev'ry side,

Did not the Lord sustain thy steps,
And was not God thy guide?

Affliction is a stormy deep,

Where wave resounds to wave:
Though o'er my head the billows roll,
I know the Lord can save.

Here will I rest, and build my hope;
Nor murmur at his rod :

He's more than all the world to me,

My health, my life, my God!

SECTION 11.

Contentment.

IF solid happiness we prize,
Within our breast this jewel lies;
And they are fools who roam :
The world has little to bestow;

From our own minds our joys must flow,
And that dear hut, our home.

Of rest was Noah's dove bereft,

When with impatient wing, she left

That safe retreat, the ark:
Giving her vain excursion o'er,
The disappointed bird, once more,
Explor'd the sacred bark.

Our portion is not large, indeed;
But then, how little do we need!
For nature's calls are few:

In this, the art of living lies,
To wish no more than may suffice,

And make that little do.

We'll, therefore, relish with content,
Whate'er kind Providence has sent ;

Nor aim beyond our pow'r :
And if our store be very small,
With thankful hearts enjoy it all,
Nor lose the present hour.

To be resign'd when ills betide;
Patient when favours are denied

And pleas'd with favours giv'n;