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S. M. WATTS.
Piety the source of domestic peace.
BLEST are the sons of peace, Whose hearts and hopes are one, Whose kind designs to serve and please Through all their actions run.
Blest is the pious house, Where zeal and friendship meet; Their songs of praise, their mingled vows, Make their communion sweet:
When love from Christ the spring
Descends to every soul,
And heavenly peace with balmy wing
Shades and bedews the whole.
Thus on the heavenly hills
The saints are blest above,
Where joy like morning dew distils,
And all the air is love.
IF solid happiness we prize,
Within our breasts the jewel lies,
And they are fools who roam:
The world has nothing to bestow;
From our ownselves our joys must flow,
And peace begins at home.
We'll therefore relish with content
Whate'er kind providence hath sent,
Nor aim beyond our power;
And, if our store of wealth be small,
With thankful hearts enjoy it all,
Nor lose the present hour.
We'll be resign'd when ills betide,
Patient when favours are denied,
And pleased with favours given: This is the wise, the virtuous part; This is that incense of the heart Whose fragrance reaches heaven.
Thus crown'd with peace thro' life we'll go,
Its chequer'd paths of joy and woe
With cautious steps we'll tread;
Quit its vain scenes without a tear,
Without a trouble or a fear,
And mingle with the dead:
While conscience, like a faithful friend,
Shall through the gloomy vale attend,
And cheer our dying breath;
Shall, when all other comforts cease,
Like a kind angel whisper peace,
And smooth the bed of death.
MARK, when tempestuous winds arise,
The wild confusion and uproar,
All ocean mixing with the skies,
And wrecks are dash'd upon the shore.
Not less confusion racks the mind
By its own fierce ideas tost;
Calm reason is to rage resign'd,
And in the whirl of passion lost.
Happy the meek, whose gentle breast,
Clear as the summer's evening ray,
Calm as the regions of the blest,
Enjoys on earth coelestial day.
No friendships broke their bosoms sting,
No jars their peaceful tent invade;
Safe underneath almighty wing,
And, foes to none, of none afraid.
grace, all meek and mild, With thy whole self our souls possess ; Passion and pride be hence exiled,
Then shall our frame thine own express.
298. L. M.
THE Lord is just: he made the chain
Which binds together guilt and pain.
The Lord is just: he loves to shed
His blessings where the virtues tread.
Happy the man who dares be just,
Refusing to betray his trust,
Though interest tempt him to the deed,
Though the seducing passions plead.
Happy the man who dares be just,
Steadfast, when duty says "Thou must,"
Against the tyrant's marking frown,
Or the fond crowd impetuous grown.
Him would the storm-vext ocean's weight,
Or lightning barb'd with instant fate,
Or the last earthquake's awful shock,
Unfearing smite:-God is his rock.
299. L. M. SIR H. WOTTON.
A happy life.
How happy is he born and taught,
Who serveth not another's will;
Whose armour is his honest thought,
And simple truth his utmost skill:
Whose passions not his masters are,
Whose soul is still prepared for death;
Untied to this vain world by care
Of public fame or private breath :
Who envies none that change doth raise;
Nor vice hath ever understood;
How deepest wounds are given by praise,
Nor rules of state, but rules of good:
Who hath his life from rumours freed,
Whose conscience is his strong retreat:
Whose state can neither flatterers feed,
Nor ruin make oppressors great:
Who God doth late and early pray
More of his grace than gifts to lend;
To crave for less, and more obey,
Nor dare with heaven's decree contend:
This man is freed from servile bands
Of hope to rise, or fear to fall;
Lord of himself, though not of lands,
And having nothing, yet hath all.
300. L. M. T. SCOTT.
ALL-SEEING God! 'tis thine to know
The springs whence wrong opinions flow;
To judge, by principles within,
When frailty errs, and when we sin.