Whate'er The Passion, Knowledge, Fame, Or Pelf,

To Swear Is Neither Brave, Polite, Nor Wise.

And Not A Vanity Is Given In Vain.

Interspersed In Lawn And Opening Glades, Thin Trees Arise That Shun Each Others' Shades.

Vice Is A Monster Of So Frightful Mien As To Be Hated Needs But To Be Seen; Yet Seen Too Oft, Familiar With Her Face, We First Endure, Then Pity, Then Embrace.

Hope Humbly Then; With Trembling Pinions Soar; Wait The Great Teacher, Death, And God Adore; What Future Bliss He Gives Not Thee To Know, But Gives That Hope To Be Thy Blessing Now.