The tulip and the butterfly Appear in gayer coats than I; Let me be dress'd fine as I will, Flies, worms, and flowers exceed me still. Then will I set my heart to find Inward adornings of the mind; Knowledge and virtue, truth and grace! These are the robes of richest dress. No more shall worms with me compare, This is the raiment angels wear; The Son of God, when here below, Put on this best apparel, too. It never fades, it ne'er grows old, Nor fears the rain, nor moth, nor mould; It takes no spot, but still refines; The more 't is worn the more it shines. In this on earth would I appear, Then go to heaven and wear it there; God will approve it in His sight, 'Tis His own work and His delight. --_Isaac Watts_. {329} THE ANT, OR EMMET These emmets, how little they are in our eyes! We tread them to dust, and a troop of them dies, Without our regard or concern; Yet, as wise as we are, if we went to their school, There's many a sluggard and many a fool Some lessons of wisdom might learn. They wear not their time out in sleeping or play, But gather up corn in a sunshiny day, And for winter they lay up their stores; They manage their work in such regular forms One would think they foresaw all the frosts and the storms, And so brought their food within doors. But I have less sense than a poor creeping ant If I take not due care for the things I shall want, Nor provide against dangers in time; When death or old age shall once stare in my face, What a wretch shall I be in the end of my days If I trifle a way all their prime! Now, while my strength and my youth are in bloom, Let me think what shall serve me when sickness shall come, And pray that my sins 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. --_Isaac Watts_. {330} A MORNING SONG My God, who makes the sun to know His proper hour to rise, And, to give light to all below, Doth send him round the skies. When from the chambers of the east His morning race begins, He never tires, nor stops to rest, But round the world he shines. So, like the sun, would I fulfill The business of the day; Begin my work betimes, and still March on my heavenly way. Give me, O Lord, Thine early grace, Nor let my soul complain, That the young morning of my days Has all been spent in vain. --_Isaac Watts_. {331}{332} [Illustration] MADONNA OF THE ANGELS By Adolph Bouguereau (1825-1905) "The mother with the Child, Whose tender winning arts Have to His little arms beguiled So many wounded hearts." --_Matthew Arnold_ [End illustration] {333} AN EVENING SONG