Yet the Rose has one powerful virtue to boast, Above all the flowers of the field! When its leaves are all dead and fine colors are lost, Still how sweet a perfume it will yield! So frail is the youth and the beauty of man, Though they bloom and look gay like the Rose; But all our fond care to preserve them is vain, Time kills them as fast as he goes. Then I'll not be proud of my youth and my beauty, Since both of them wither and fade; But gain a good name by well doing my duty: This will scent like a rose when I'm dead. --_Isaac Watts_. {339}{340} [Illustration] MADONNA AND CHILD By Carlo Dolci (1616-1686) [End illustration] {341} PRAISE FOR CREATION AND PROVIDENCE I sing th' Almighty power of God, That made the mountains rise, That spread the flowing seas abroad, And built the lofty skies. I sing the wisdom that ordain'd The sun to rule the day; The moon shines full at His command, And all the stars obey. I sing the goodness of the Lord, That fill'd the earth with food; He formed the creatures with His word, And then pronounced them good. Lord, how Thy wonders are display'd Where'er I turn mine eye! If I survey the ground I tread, Or gaze upon the sky! There's not a plant or flower below But makes Thy glories known: And clouds arise, and tempests blow, By order from Thy throne. Creatures (as numerous as they be) Are subject to Thy care: There's not a place where we can flee, But God is present there. --_Isaac Watts_. {342} A GENERAL SONG OF PRAISE TO GOD How glorious is our heavenly King, Who reigns above the sky! How shall a child presume to sing His dreadful majesty? How great His power is none can tell, Nor think how large His grace: Not men below, nor saints that dwell On high before His face. Not angels, that stand round the Lord, Can search His secret will; But they perform His heavenly word, And sing His praises still. Then let me join this holy tram, And my first offerings bring; The eternal God will not disdain To hear an infant sing. My heart resolves, my tongue obeys, And angels shall rejoice, To hear their mighty Maker's praise Sound from a feeble voice. --_Isaac Watts_. {343} INNOCENT PLAY Abroad in the meadows, to see the young lambs Run sporting about by the side of their dams, With fleeces so clean and so white; Or a nest 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 sight!