We Turn To Dust, And All Our

To See The Law By Christ Fulfilled, And Hear His Pardoning Voice Changes A Slave Into A Child, And Duty Into Choice.

An Idler Is A Watch That Wants Both Hands; As Useless If It Goes As When It Stands.

Words Learn'd By Rote A Parrot May Rehearse, But Talking Is Not Always To Converse, Not More Distinct From Harmony Divine The Constant Creaking Of A Country Sign.

But Conversation, Choose What Theme We May, And Chiefly When Religion Leads The Way, Should Flow, Like Waters After Summer Show'rs, Not As If Raised By Mere Mechanic Powers.

Twere Better To Be Born A Stone Of Ruder Shape, And Feeling None, Than With A Tenderness Like Mine And Sensibilities So Fine! Ah, Hapless Wretch! Condemn'd To Dwell Forever In My Native Shell, Ordained To Move When Others Please, Not For My Own Content Or Ease; But Toss'd And Buffeted About, Now In The Water And Now Out.