What were thy gain, couldst thou survey The spacious land, and boundless sea, And view a world at thy controul, But lose thyself, th’ immortal soul? Blessings of mind, or better health, Can well supply the loss of wealth: A ruin’d soul what can restore? That loss can be repair’d no more. Where will the trembling sinner find A ransom for the guilty mind? What jewel of uncounted cost Can purchase back _that jewel_ lost? What madness thus to throw away A soul for trifles day by day! For dear-bought joys yourself undo, And barter bliss for certain woe! Amazing folly Lord we own Our guilt, with penitential moan: While our vain hearts have been engrost, With meaner cares, our souls were lost. For what in nature’s spacious range Would happy saints their bliss exchange? Or what in time can sinners gain To balance everlasting pain? [Picture: Decorative graphic of rural cottage with trees] * * * * * London: Printed by A. APPLEGATH, Duke-street, Stamford-street; and sold by J. DAVIS, No. 56, Paternoster-row, and by J. NISBET, No. 15, Castle-street, Oxford-street. {1} FOOTNOTES. {1} In the printed version there’s neither title page nor cover and the printer’s statement comes at the bottom of the page. It’s been moved to the end in this transcription.—DP.