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WHATEVER brawls disturb the street,
There fhould be peace at home;
Where fifters dwell and brothers meet,
Quarrels fhould never come.
Birds in their little nefts agree;
And 'tis a fhameful fight,
When children of one family
Fall out, and chide, and fight!
Hird names at first, and threat'ning words,
That are but noify breath,
May grow to clubs and naked fwords,
To murder and to death.
The devil tempts one mother's fon
To rage against another;
So wicked Cain was hurried on
Till he had kill'd his brother.
The wife will make their anger cool,
At leaft before 'tis night;
But in the bofom of a fool
It burns till morning-light.
Pardon, O Lord, our childish rage,
Our little brawls remove;
That, as we grow to riper age,
Our hearts may all be love.
1. Against Scoffing and calling Names.
WATTS. OUR tongues were made to blefs the Lord, And not fpcak ill of men;
When others give a railing word,
We must not rail again.
Crofs words and angry names require
To be chaftis'd at fchool;
And he's in danger of hell-fire
That calls his brother Fool.
But lips that dare be fo profane,
To mock and jeer and fcoff
At holy things or holy men,
The Lord fhall cut them off.
When children in their wanton play
Serv'd old Elifba fo;
And bid the prophet go
"Go up, thou bald-head, go!" God quickly ftopp'd their wicked breath, And fent two raging bears,
That tore them lano from limb to death, With blood, and groans, and tears. Great God, how terrible art thou
To finners e'er to young!
Grant me thy grace, and teach me how To tame and rule my tongue!
And yet how wicked children dare
Abufe thy dreadful glorious name!
And, when they 're angry, how they fwear,
And curfe their fellows, and blafpheme!
How will they ftand before thy face,
Who treated thee with fuch difdain,
While thou shalt doom them to the place
Of everlafting fire and pain!
Then never fhall one cooling drop
To quench their burning tongues
But I will praife thee here, and hope
Thus to employ my tongue in heaven.
My heart fhall be in pain to hear
Wretches affront the Lord above;
'Tis that great God whofe pow'r I fear,
That heav'nly Father whom I love.
If my companions grow profane,
I'll leave their friendship when I hear
Young finners take thy name in vain,
And learn to curfe, and learn to fwear.
$73. Against Idleness and Mischief. WATTS. HOW doth the little bufy bee
Improve each fhining hour,
And gather honey all the day
From ev'ry op'ning flow'r!
How fkilfully the builds her cell!
How neat the fpreads the wax!
And labours hard to ftore it well
With the fweet food the makes.
In works of labour, or of skill,
I would be buly too;
For Satan finds fome mifchief still
For idle hands to do.
In books, or work, or healthful play,
Let my first years be paft,
That I may give for ev'ry day
Some good account at last.
874 Against Evil Company. WATTS, WHY fhould I join with those in play In whom I've no delight;
Who curfe and fwear, but never pray ;
Who call ill names, and fight?
I hate to hear a wanton fong,
Their words offend mine ears;
I fhould not dare defile my tongue
With language fuch as theirs.
Away from fools I'll turn mine eyes,
Nor with the fcoffers go:
$72. Against Swearing and Curfing, and taking I would be walking with the wife,
ANGELS, that high in glory dwell, Adore thy name, Almighty God! And devils tremble, down in hell, Beneath the terrors of thy rod,
That wifer I may grow.
From one rude boy that's us'd to mock,
They learn the wicked jeft:
One fickly theep infects the flock,
And poifons all the reft.
My God, I hate to walk or dwell
With finful children here: Then let me not be fent to hell, Where none but finners are.
$75. Against Pride in Clothes. WATTS. WHY fhould our garments, made to hide
Our parents' fhame, provoke our pride? The art of dress did ne'er begin Till Eve, our mother, learnt to fin. When first the put the cov'ring on, Her robe of innocence was gone; And yet her children vainly boast In the fad marks of glory loft. How proud we are! how fond to fhew Our clothes, and call them rich and new! When the poor fheep and filkworm wore That very clothing long before. The tulip and the butterfly Appear in gayer coats than I : Let me be dreft fine as I will, Flies, worms, and flow'rs, exceed me still. Then will I fet my heart to find Inward adornings of the mind; Knowledge and virtue, truth and grace: These are the robes of richet drefs. No more fhall worms with me compare; This is the raiment angels wear; The Son of God, when here below, Put on this bleft apparel too.
It never fades, it ne'er
Nor fears the rain, nor moth, nor mould;
It takes no fpot, but still retines;
The more 'tis worn, the more it fhines.
In this on earth fhould I appear,
Then go to heav'n and wear it there,
God will approve it in his fight;
'Tis his own work, and his delight.
$76. Obedience to Parents. WATTS.
LET children that would fear the Lord
Hear what their teachers fay;
With rev'rence meet their parents' word,
And with delight obey.
Have you not heard what dreadful plagues
Are threaten'd by the Lord,
To him that breaks his father's law,
Or mocks his mother's word?
What heavy guilt upon him lies!
How curfed is his name!
The ravens fhall pick out his eyes,
And eagles cat the fame.
But those who worship God, and give
Their parents honour due,
Here on this earth they long fhall live,
And live hereafter too.
$77. The Child's Complaint. WATTS.
WHY fhould I love my fport fo well,
So conftant at my play,
And lofe the thoughts of heav'n and hell,
And then forget to pray?
What do I read my Bible for,
But, Lord, to learn thy will? And thall I daily know thee more, And lefs obey thee ftill? How fenfelefs is my heart, and wild! How vain are all my thoughts! Pity the weakness of a child, And pardon all my faults.
Make me thy heav'nly voice to hear,
And let me love to pray;
Since God will lend a gracious ear
To what a child can fay.
§78. A Morning and Evening Song. WATTS Morning Song.
MY God, who makes the fun to know
His proper hour to rife,
And to give light to all below,
Doth fend him round the kies.
When from the chambers of the caft
His morning race begins,
He never tires, nor ftops to reft,
But round the world he fhines.
So, like the fun, would I fulfil
The bus'nefs of the day:
Begin my work, betimes, and ftill
March on my heav'nly way.
Give me, O Lord, thy early grace,
Nor let my foul complain
That the young morning of my days
Has all been fpent in vain!
AND now another day is gone,
I'll fing my Maker's praife:
My comforts ev'ry hour make known
His providence and grace.
But how my childhood runs to waste L
My fins, how great their fum!
Lord, give me pardon for the past,
And ftrength for days to come.
I lay my body down to fleep;
Let angels guard my head,
And through the hours of darknefs keep
Their watch around my bed.
With cheerful heart I close my eyes,
Since thou wilt not remove;
And in the morning let me rife,
Rejoicing in thy love.
To-day with pleasure Chriftians meet
To pray, and hear the word:
And I would go with cheerful feet
To learn thy will, O Lord.
I'll leave my fport, to read and pray,
And fo prepare for heaven;
O may I love this bleffed day
The best of all the feven
$80. For the Lord's Day Evening. LORD, how delightful 'tis to fee
If we had been ducks, we might dabble in mud,
Or dogs, we might play till it ended in blood,
So foul and fo fierce are their natures:
But Thomas and William, and fuch pretty names,
Should be cleanly and harmlefs as doves or as
Those lovely fweet innocent creatures. [lambs,
Not a thing that we do, nor a word that we say,
Should hinder another in jefting or play;
For he's ftill in earneft that 's hurt: [mire! WATTS. How rude are the boys that throw pebbles and There's none but a madman will fling about fire, And tell you "'Tis all but in fport."
A whole affembly worship thee!
At once they fing, at once they pray;
They hear of heav'n, and learn the way.
I have been there, and still would go;
'Tis like a little heav'n below:
Not all my pleasure and my play
Shall tempt me to forget this day.
O write upon my mem'ry, Lord,
The texts and doctrines of thy word;
That I may break thy laws no more,
But love thee better than before.
With thoughts of Chrift, and things divine,
Fill up this foolish heart of mine;
That, hoping pardon thro' his blood,
I may lie down, and wake with God.
§ 81. The Sluggard. WATTS. 'TIS the voice of a fluggard-I heard him [again." "You have wak'd me too foon, I must flumber As the door on its hinges, fo he on his bed. [head. Turns his fides and his fhoulders, and his heavy "A little more fleep and a little more flumber," Thus he waftes half his days, and his hours without number;
And when he gets up, he fits folding his hands, Or walks about faunt'ring, or trifling he stands. I pafs'd by his garden, and faw the wild brier, Thethorn and the thiftle grow broader and higher; The clothes that hang on him are turning to rags; And his money ftill waftes, till he starves or he begs. I made him a visit, still hoping to find
He had took better care for improving his mind; He told me his dreams, talk'd of eatinganddrinking, But he fcarce reads his Bible, and never loves thinking.
Said I then to my heart," Here's a leffon for me; That man 's but a picture of what I might be; But thanks to my friends for their care in my breeding, [reading! Who taught me betimes to love working and
82. Innocent Play. WATTS. ABROADin the meadows, to fee the younglambs Run fporting about by the fide of their dams, With fleeces fo clean and fo white; Or a neft of young doves in a large open cage, When they play all in love, without anger or rage, How much we may learn from the fight!
§ 83. The Rofe. WATTS.
HOW fair is the rofe! what a beautiful flow'r! The glory of April and May!
But the leaves are beginning to fade in an hour,
And they wither and die in a day.
Yet the rofe has one powerful virtue to boast,
Above all the flow'rs of the field:
When its leaves are all dead, and fine colours are
Still how fweet a perfume it will yield!
So frail is the youth and the beauty of men,
Tho' they bloom and look gay like the rofe; But all our fond care to preferve them is vain; Time kills them as fast as he goes.
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 well doing my duty:
This will fcent like a rofe when I'm dead.
$84. The Thief. WATTS.
WHY thould I deprive my neighbour
Of his goods against his will?
Hands were made for honeft labour,
Not to plunder or to steal.
'Tis a foolish felf-deceiving,
By fuch tricks to hope for gain : All that 's ever got by thieving
Turns to forrow, fhame, and pain.
Have not Eve and Adam taught us
Their fad profit to compute!
To what difmal ftate they brought us,
When they stole forbidden fruit!
Oft we fee a young beginner
Practife little pilf 'ring ways,
Till grown up a harden'd finner:
Then the gallows ends his days.
Theft will not be always hidden,
Though we fancy none can fpy:
When we take a thing forbidden,
God beholds it with his eye.
Guard my heart, O God of heaven,
Left I covet what's not mine;
Left I steal what is not given,
Guard my heart and hands from fin.
§ 5. The Ant, or Emmet. WATTS. THESE emmets, how little they are in our eyes! We tread them to duft, and a troop of them
Without our regard or concern:
Yet as wife as we are, if we went to their school,
There's many a fluggard, and many a fool,
Some leffons of wifdom might learn.
They don't wear their time out in fleeping or play,
But gather up corn in a fun-fhiny day,
And for winter they lay up their flores:
They manage their work in fuch regular forms,
One would think they forefaw all the frofts and
And fo brought their food within doors.
But I have lefs fenfe than a poor creeping ant,
If I take not due care for the things I fhall want,
Nor provide againft dangers in time.
When death or old age fhall ftare in my face,
What a wretch fhall I be in the end of my days,
If I trifle away all their prime!
How lovely and joyful the courfe that he run,
Though he rofe in a mift when his race he begun,
And there follow'd fome droppings of rain! But now the fair traveller 's come to the west, His rays all are gold, and his beauties are beft; Now, now, while my strength and my youth are He paints the iky gay as he finks to his reft,
in bloom, [fhall come, Let me think what will ferve me when fick nefs And pray that my fins be forgiven : 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 heaven.
$86. Good Refolutions. WATTS.
HOUGH I am now in younger days,
Nor can tell what thall befal me,
I'll prepare for ev'ry place
Where my growing age fhall call me.
Should I e'er be rich or great,
Others fhall partake my goodness;
I'll fupply the poor with meat,
Never fhewing fcorn or rudeness.
Where I fee the blind or lame,
Deaf or dumb, I'll kindly treat them;
I deferve to feel the fame,
If I meck, or hurt, or cheat them.
If I meet with railing tongues,
Why should I return them railing?
Since I beft revenge my wrongs
By my patience never failing.
When I hear them telling lics,
Talking foolish, curfing, fwearing;
First I'll try to make them wife,
Or I'll foon go out of hearing.
What though I be low and mean,
the rich to love me,
While I'm modeft, neat, and clean,
And fubmit when they reprove me.
If I fhould be and fick,
I fhall meet, I hope, with pity;
Since I love to help the weak,
Though they're neither fair nor witty.
I'll not willingly offend,
Nor be easily offended;
What's amifs I'll ftrive to mend,
And endure what can't be mended.
And foretels a bright rifing again.
Juft fuch is the Chriftian: his courfe he begins
Like the fun in a mitt, when he mourns for his fins,
And melts into tears; then he breaks out and shines,
And travels his heavenly way:
But, when he comes nearer to finish his race,
Like a fine fetting fun, he looks richer in grace,
And gives a fure hope at the end of his days
Of rifing in brighter array!
§ 88. A Cradle Hymn. WATTS.
HUSH! my dear, lie ftill and flumber,
Holy angels guard thy bed!
Heav'nly bleffings, without number,
Gently falling on thy head.
Sleep, my babe! thy food and raiment,
House and home, thy friends provide;
All without thy care or payment,
All thy wants are well fupplied.
How much better thou 'rt attended
Than the Son of God could be;
When from heaven he defcended,
And became a child like thee!
Soft and eafy is thy cradle,
Courfe and hard thy Saviour lay;
When his birth-place was a ftable,
And his fofteft bed was hay.
Blefed babe! what glorious features
Spotlefs fair, divinely bright!
Muft he dwell with brutal creatures?
How could angels bear the fight?
Was there nothing but a manger
Curfed finners could afford,
To receive the heav'nly stranger?
Did they thus affront their Lord?
Soft, my child! I did not chide thee,
Though my fong might found too hard:
fits befide thee,
nurfe that S
And her arms fhall be thy guard.
Here you may use the words Brother, Sifter, Neighbour, Friend, &c.
Yet to read the fhameful story,
How the Jews abus'd their King, How they ferv'd the Lord of glory, Makes me angry while I fing. See the kinder fhepherds round him, Telling wonders from the fky!
Ye angels, that with loud acclaim
Admiring view'd the new-born frame,
And hail'd the Eternal King,
Again proclaim your Maker's praife;
Again your thankful voices raile,
And touch the tuneful string.
Where they fought him, there they found him, Praife him, ye bleft æthereal plains,
With his Virgin mother by.
See the lovely babe a-dreffing,
Lovely Infant, how he fmil'd!
When he wept, the Mother's bleffing
Sooch'd and hush'd the holy child.
Lo, he flumbers in his manger,
Where the horned oxen fed:
Peace, my darling, here's no danger,
Here's no ox a-near thy bed.
'Twas to fave thee, child, from dying,
Save my dear from burning flame,
Bitter groans, and endless crying,
That thy bleft Redeemer came.
May't thou live to know and fear him,
Trust and love him all thy days;
Then go dwell for ever near him,
See his face, and fing his praise !
I could give thee thoufand kiffes,
Hoping what I must defire;
Not a mother's fondeft wishes
Can to greater joys aspire!
$89. The Nunc Dimittis. MERRICK. TIS enough-the hour is come:
Now within the filent tomb
Let this mortal frame decay,
Mingled with its kindred clay;
Since thy mercies, oft of old
By thy chofen feers foretold,
Faithful now and ftedfaft prove,
God of truth, and God of love!
Since at length my aged eye
Sees the day-fpring from on high!
Son of righteoufnefs, to thee,
Lo! the nations bow the knee;
And the realms of diftant kings
Own the healing of thy wings.
Those whom death had overfpread
With his dark and dreary fhade,
Lift their eyes, and from afar
Hail the light of Jacob's Star;
Waiting till the promis'd ray
Toin their darkness into day.
See the beams, intenfely fhed,
Shine o'er Sion's favour'd head!
Never may they hence remove,
God of truth, and God of love!
90. The Benedicite paraphrafed. YE works of God, on him alone,
In earth his footstool, heav'n his throne, Be all your praise bestow'd; Whofe hand the beauteous fabric made, Whofe eye the finish'd work furvey'd, And faw that all was good.
Where, in full majefty, he deigns
To fix his awful throne:
Ye waters that above him roll,
From orb to orb, from pole to pole,
O make his praifes known!
Ye thrones, dominions, virtues, pow'rs,
Join ye your joyful fongs with ours;
With us your voices raife;
From age to age extend the lay,
To heaven's Eternal Monarch pay
Hymns of eternal praife.
Celeftial orb! whofe powerful ray
Opes the glad eyelids of the day,
Whofe influence all things own;
Praife him, whofe courts effulgent thine
With light as far excelling thine,
As thine the paler moon.
Ye glitt'ring planets of the fky,
Whofe lamps the abfent fun fupply,
With him the fong purfue;
And let himfelf fubmittive own,
He borrows from a brighter Sun
The light he lends to you.
Ye fhow'rs and dews, whofe moisture shed
Calls into life the op'ning feed,
To him your praifes yield,
Whofe influence wakes the genial birth,
Drops fatnefs on the pregnant earth,
And crowns the laughing field.
Ye winds, that oft tempeftuous fweep
The ruffled furface of the deep,
With us confefs your God;
See thro' the heav'ns the King of kings,
Upborne on your expanded wings,
Come flying all abroad.
Ye floods of fire, where'er ye flow,
With juft fubmiffion humbly bow
To his fuperior pow'r,
Who ftops the tempeft on its way,
Or bids the flaring deluge ftray,
And gives it ftrength to roar.
Ye fummer's heat, and winter's cold,
By turus in long fucceffion roll'd,
The drooping world to cheer,
Praife him who gave the fun and moon
To lead the various feafons on,
And guide the circling year.
Ye frofts, that bind the wat❜ry plain,
Ye filent fhow'rs of fleecy rain,
Pursue the heav'nly theme;
Praife him who sheds the driving fnow,
Forbids the harden'd waves to flow,
And stops the rapid stream.