Watt's Songs Against Evil
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AGAINST PRIDE IN CLOTHES
Why should our garments, made to hideOur parents' shame, provoke our pride?The art of dress did ne'er beginTill Eve our mother learnt to sin.When first she put the covering on,Her robe of innocence was gone;And yet her children vainly boastIn the sad marks of glory lost.How proud we are! how fond to shewOur clothes, and call them rich and new,When the poor sheep and silkworms woreThat very clothing long before!The tulip and the butterflyAppear in gayer coats than I:Let me be dress'd fine as I will,Flies, worms, and flowers exceed me still.Then will I set my heart to findInward adornings of the mind;Knowledge and virtue, truth and grace,These are the robes of richest dress.No more shall worms with me compare,This is the raiment angels wear:The Son of God, when here below,Put on this blest apparel too.It never fades, it ne'er grows old,Nor fears the rain, nor moth, nor mould:It takes no spot, but still refines;The more 'tis worn, the more it shines.In this on earth would I appear,Then go to heaven, and wear it there:God will approve it in his sight;'Tis his own work, and his delight.THE SLUGGARD
'Tis the voice of the Sluggard: I heard him complain,'You have waked me too soon! I must slumber again!'As the door on its hinges, so he on his bedTurn his sides, and his shoulders, and his heavy head.'A little more sleep, and a little more slumber!'Thus he wastes half his days and his hours without number;And when he gets up he sits folding his hands,Or walks about sauntering, or trifling he stands.I pass'd by his garden, and saw the wild brier,The thorn, and the thistle grow broader and higher;The clothes that hang on him are turning to rags;And his money still wastes, till he starves or he begs.I made him a visit, still hoping to findHe had took better care for improving his mind:He told me his dreams, talk'd of eating and drinking;But he scarce reads his Bible, and never loves thinking.Said I then to my heart, 'Here's a lesson for me!That man's but a picture of what I might be;But thanks to my friends for their care in my breeding,Who have taught me by times to love working and reading!'THE ANT, OR EMMET
These Emmets, how little they are in our eyes!We tread them to dust, and a troop of them dies,Without our regard or concern:Yet, as wise as we are, if we went to their school,There's many a sluggard and many a foolSome lessons of wisdom might learn.They wear not their time out in sleeping or play,But gather up corn in a sunshiny day,And for winter they lay up their stores:They manage their work in such regular forms,One would think they foresaw all the frosts and the storms,And so brought their food within doors.But I have less sense than a poor creeping Ant,If I take not due care for the things I shall want,Nor provide against dangers in time:When death or old age shall once stare in my face,What a wretch shall I be in the end of my days,If I trifle away all their prime!Now, now, while my strength and my youth are in bloom,Let me think what shall serve me when sickness shall come,And pray that my sins be forgiven.Let me read in good books, and believe, and obey;That, when death turns me out of this cottage of clay,I may dwell in a palace in heaven.INNOCENT PLAY
Abroad in the meadows, to see the young lambsRun sporting about by the side of their dams,With fleeces so clean and so white;Or a nest of young doves in a large open cageWhen they play all in love, without anger or rage,How much may we learn from the sight!If we had been ducks, we might dabble in mud;Or dogs, we might play till it ended in blood:So foul and so fierce are their natures;But Thomas and William, and such pretty names,Should be cleanly and harmless as doves or as lambs,Those lovely sweet innocent creatures.Not a thing that we do, nor a word that we say,Should injure another in jesting or play,For he's still in earnest that's hurt:How rude are the boys that throw pebbles and mire;There's none but a madman will fling about fire,And tell you "'Tis all but in sport!"AGAINST EVIL COMPANY
Why should I join with those in playIn whom I've no delight;Who curse and swear, but never pray;Who call ill names, and fight?I hate to hear a wanton song:Their words offend my ears:I should not dare defile my tongueWith language such as theirs.Away from fools I'll turn my eyes,Nor with the scoffers go:I would be walking with the wise,That wiser I may grow.From one rude boy, that's used to mock,They learn the wicked jest:One sickly sheep infects the flock,And poisons all the rest.My God, I hate to walk or dwellWith sinful children here:Then let me not be sent to hell,Where none but sinners are.THE THIEF
Why should I deprive my neighborOf his goods against his will?Hands were made for honest labor,Not to plunder, or to steal.'Tis a foolish self-deceivingBy such tricks to hope for gain:All that's ever got by thievingTurns to sorrow, shame, and pain.Have not Eve and Adam taught usTheir sad profit to compute,To what dismal state they brought usWhen they stole forbidden fruit?Oft we see a young beginnerPractise little pilfering ways,Till grown up a harden'd sinner,Then the gallows ends his days.Theft will not be always hidden,Though we fancy none can spy:When we take a thing forbidden,God beholds it with his eye.Guard my heart, O God of heaven,Lest I covet what's not mine;Lest I steal what is not given,Guard my heart and hands from sin.THE ROSE
How fair is the Rose! what a beautiful flower!The glory of April and May:But the leaves are beginning to fade in an hour,And they wither and die in a day.Yet the Rose has one powerful virtue to boast,Above all the flowers of the field!When its leaves are all dead and fine colors are lost,Still how sweet a perfume it will yield!So frail is the youth and the beauty of man,Though they bloom and look gay like the Rose;But all our fond care to preserve them is vain,Time kills them as fast as he goes.Then I'll not be proud of my youth and my beauty,Since both of them wither and fade;But gain a good name by well doing my duty:This will scent like a Rose when I'm dead.