FRAILTY. From the same

Lord, how in Silence I despise The giddy Worldling's Snare! This Beauty, Riches, Honour, Toys Not worth a Moment's Care. Hence painted Dust, and gilded Clay! You have no Charms for Me: Delusive Breath, be far away! I waste no Thought on thee.

But when abroad at once I view Both the World's Hosts and Thine! These simple, sad, afflicted, few, These num'rous, gay and fine: Lost my Resolves, my Scorn is past, I boast my Strength no more; A willing Slave they bind me fast With unresisted Pow'r.

O brook not this; let not thy Foes Profane thy hallow'd Shrine: Thine is my Soul, by sacred Vows Of strictest Union Thine! Hear then my just, tho' late Request, Once more the Captive free; Renew thy Image in my Breast, And claim my Heart for Thee.