SONGS for CHILDREN, SONG VII

While you smell at that rose-bud, my love, whilen its beautiful hue each admires, Your mind you may aptly improve, by lessens which prudence inspires.

The flow'r is all gay to the sight, Its blush is like that of the morn; But yet with its colours so bright, Don't you see it is arm'd with a thorn.

When you press it, be careful of harm, Lest your fingers unwary you wound; If you should, it no longer would charm, Tho' with summer's choice beauties 'tis crown'd.

No flow'r that adorns the gay green, Indeed with the rose can compare; It is bright in simplicity seen, The rose is both useful and fair.

But yet ev'ry sweet has its sour. And all things on earth still must cloy; And godness alone has the pow'r, To give us true comfort and joy.

Then in search of soft pleasures, my dear, As along life's gay stream you are borne, All bright while the prospects appear, Pluck the rose, but beware of the thorn.