On Anger

How unbecoming is the sight, When children, who should shrink with fright If angry menaces they hear, Angry, themselves, too oft appear!

When e'er this anger clouds the face, Of its wont charms no sign we trace: Vanish its colours, and in lieu, Reigns a deep fire, or death-like hue.

Our limbs too, which God's hand has made, In comely acts to be display'd, In furious wrath the breast dilate, Convulsive motions agitate.

Let no such savage tyrant, then Which sinks to beasts the sons of men, Possess our hearts, that ne'er should know The rage of any in-bred foe.

But in the spirit of God's peace, Which bids all jarring discord cease, May we be friendly to mankind, And serve him with a quiet mind.