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VANITY.
AH! why should vanity enslave
A mortal journeying to the grave?
Ah! why should pride inflate a breast,
So soon beneath the clods to rest?
Yet still we yield to folly's reign,
And strive to break her sway in vain.
O holy Saviour, hear our prayer,
Behold our toil, our fruitless care,
And let thy Spirit crush the foes
That so disturb our soul's repose.
DECEPTION.
WHO can detect the bosom's hidden pain,
When peace, and love, and beauty, light the scene,
Ah, who can tell what sins the heart may stain
When smiles of mirth and pleasure deck the mein?
