Abused mortals! did you know Where joy, heart’s-ease, and comforts grow, You’d scorn proud towers, And seek them in these bowers, Where winds sometimes our woods perhaps may shake, But blustering care could never tempest make, Nor murmurs e’er come nigh us, Saving of _fountains_ that glide by us. _Sir Walter Raleigh._ How free the _fountain_ flows Of endless life and joy! The spring which no confinement knows, Whose waters never cloy. How sweet the accents sound From the Redeemer’s tongue! Assemble all ye nations round In one obedient throng. Ho, every thirsty soul Approach the sacred spring, Drink, and your fainting spirits cheer, Renew the draught and sing. _Doddridge._ Why should the soul a drop bemoan, Who has a _fountain_ near,-- A _fountain_ which shall ever run With waters sweet and clear? _Ryland._ FRAILTY. Lord, make me to know mine end, and the measure of my days, what it is; that I may know how _frail_ I am.--Psalm xxxix. 4. But man with _frailty_ is allied by birth. _Bishop Lowth._ By nature peccable and _frail_ are we, Easily beguiled; to vice, to error prone; But apt for virtue too. Humanity Is not a field where tares and thorns alone Are left to spring; good seed hath there been sown With no unsparing hand. Sometimes the shoot Is choked with weeds, or withers on a stone; But in a kindly soil it strikes its root, And flourisheth, and bringeth forth abundant fruit. _Southey._ “How meanly dwells th’ immortal mind! How vile these bodies are! Why was a clod of earth designed T’ enclose a heavenly star? “Weak cottage where our souls reside, This flesh a tott’ring wall; With frightful breaches gaping wide, The building bends to fall. “All round it storms of trouble blow, And waves of sorrow roll; Cold waves and winter storms beat through, And pain the tenant soul. “Alas! how _frail_ our state!” said I; And thus went mourning on, Till sudden from the cleaving sky A gleam of glory shone. My soul felt all the glory come, And breathed her native air; Then she remembered heaven, her home, And she a prisoner here. Straight she begun to change her key, And joyful in her pains, She sang the _frailty_ of her clay In pleasurable strains. _Watts._ FREEDOM. He that is called in the Lord, being a servant, is the Lord’s _freeman_: likewise also he that is called, being _free_, is Christ’s servant.--I. Corinthians, vii. 22.