To MIRA, with a Watch

Mira, this machine, you'll find, Suits a moralizing mind. Has it motion? 'Tis as clear Action is man's proper sphere. Equal should its progress prove, So thro' life let Mira move. When you forward urge its pace, Think it may be Mira's case; In my passage to the sky, Have I linger'd?—let me fly! Backwards are the hands convey'd, To the points from whence they stray'd? Blush not, Mira! to untread Steps that wisdom never led. If it stand, reflecting say, Time for no machine will stay; Heav'n observes, and, will it find Mira with him, or behind? Mark its hands with thanks to Heav'n, For each hour and minute giv'n; Giv'n as means to make us wise; Giv'n to form us for the skies. False if either hand be view'd, Some internal fault conclude, Thus if Mira's life should sin, Let her first reform within. When it strikes the hour, admit Silence is not always fit. Ev'ry day its task pursu'd, Hints how thine must be renew'd. Say, when winding up, alas! Human wheels, like those of brass Soon their functions would forego, Nought if foreign hand bestow. If all day it acted right, When she hangs it by at night, Then let Mira ask her heart, How have I perform'd my part? If it err'd, let Mira pray, Heav'n forgive my faults to-day! For its use, my present prize, All besides neglect—despise. Shine its trinkets as they will, Trinkets are but trifles still. Mira! when at court array'd All in jewels, and brocade, If at heart no merit dwell, If no deeds that merit tell, Tho' a lord should smile, or king, Thou'rt a glit'ring, useless thing. If whate'er its present praise, All its pow'r to serve decays, Means to mend it vainly try'd, When you cast it from your side; On a life of virtue past, Joyful retrospection cast; But let Mira think again, Only virtue past were vain; Perseverance, 'till we die, Wins the Christian's crown on high.