3. So frail is the youth and the beauty of men,

Though 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.

4. Then I'll not be proud of my youth or my beauty, Since both of them wither and fade:

But gain a good name by performing my duty;
This will scent like a rose, when I'm dead.

SECTION X.

The Ant.

1. 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,
There's many a sluggard, and many a fool,
Some lessons of wisdom might learn.

WATTS

2. They don't wear their time out in sleeping or play, But gather up corn in a sun-shiny day,

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.

3. But I have less sense than a poor creeping ant,
If I take not due care for the things I shall want,
Nor provide against dangers in time.

When death or old age shall stare in my face,
What a wretch shall I be in the end of my days,
If I trifle away all their prime !

4. 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 be 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 XI.

A morning hymn.

1. My God, who makes the sun to know His proper hour to rise,

And to give light to all below,

Does send him round the skies

2. When from the chambers of the east
His morning race begins,

He never tires, nor stops to rest;
But round the world he shines.

3. So, like the sun, would I fulfil
The bus'ness of the day:
Begin my work betimes, and still
March on my heav'nly way.

4. Give me, O Lord, thy early grace;
Nor let my soul complain,
That the young morning of my days
Has all been spent in vain.

SECTION XII.

An evening hymn.

1. AND now another day is gone,
I'll sing my Maker's praise :
My comforts ev'ry hour make known
His providence and grace.

2. But how my childhood runs to waste!
My sins, how great their sum!
Lord! give me pardon for the past,
And strength for days to come.

3. I lay my body down to sleep;
Let angels guard my head,

And through the hours of darkness keep
Their watch around my bed.

4. With cheerful heart I close my eyes,
Since God will not remove;

And in the morning let me rise,
Rejoicing in his love.

WATTS.

WATTS.

SECTION XI.

A morning hymn.

1. My God, who makes the sun to know
His proper hour to rise,

And to give light to all below,

Does send him round the skies

2. When from the chambers of the east
His morning race begins,

He never tires, nor stops to rest;
But round the world he shines.

3. So, like the sun, would I fulfil
The bus'ness of the day:
Begin my work betimes, and still
March on my heav'nly way.

4. Give me, O Lord, thy early grace;
Nor let my soul complain,
That the young morning of my days
Has all been spent in vain.

SECTION XII.

An evening hymn.

1. AND now another day is gone,
I'll sing my Maker's praise:

My comforts ev'ry hour make known
His providence and grace.

But how my childhood runs to waste!
My sins, how great their sum!
me pardon for the past,

gth for days to come.

y down to sleep;
hard my head,

e hours of darkness keep

around my bed.

art I close my eyes,

not remove;

let me rise,

love,

WATTS.

WATTS.

4. She guides the young, with innocence,
In pleasure's path to tread :

A crown of glory she bestows
Upon the hoary head.

5. According as her labours rise,
So her rewards increase :
Her ways are ways of pleasantness,

And all her paths are peace.

SECTION VI.

The Man of Ross.

LOGAN.

1. RISE, honest muse! and sing the Man of Ross.—
Who hung with woods yon mountain's sultry brow?
From the dry rock who bade the waters flow?
Not to the skies in useless columns tost,
Or in proud falls magnificently lost;

But clear and artless, pouring through the plain,
Health to the sick, and solace to the swain.

2. Whose causeway parts the vale with shady rows?
Whose seats the weary traveller repose?

Who taught that heav'n-directed spire to rise?
"The Man of Ross," each lisping babe replies.
3. Behold the market-place with poor o'erspread!
The Man of Ross divides the weekly bread.
He feeds yon alms-house, neat, but void of state,
Where Age and Want sit smiling at the gate.
Him portion'd maids, apprentic'd orphans blest;
The young who labour, and the old who rest.
4. Is any sick? The Man of Ross relieves,
Prescribes, attends, the med'cine makes, and gives:
Is there a variance? Enter but his door,
Balk'd are the courts, and contest is no more.
Thrice happy man! enabled to pursue

What numbers wish, but want the pow'r to do.

SECTION VII.

Resignation

1. WHILE Some in folly's pleasures roll,

And seek the joys that hurt the soul;

POPE