Content

Happy the man (but oh! how few we find) Who feels the pleasures of a tranquil mind! Who meets all blessings in content alone, Nor knows a station happier than his own! No anxious cares disturb his peaceful breast, With life content, and with contentment blest; No pangs he feels to break his calm repose; No envy fears, for he no envy knows. To man still faithful, and to God resign'd, His body subject to its lord, the mind. He must be good—for surely Heav'n ne'er meant, Without strict virtue, to bestow content. 'Tis not the glory false ambition brings, The wealth of misers, or the pow'r of kings; Nor all the fleeting joys by man possess'd, Can give this earthly frame that Heav'nly guest; Whate'er the muse of love or glory sings, Virtue alone the sacred stranger brings.

CONSCIENCE distasteful truths may tell, But mark her sacred lessons well! Whoever lives with her at strife, Loses his better friend for life.