PhillipsFamilyBox2_1G_013

Have angels sinn'd & shall not man beware?
How shall a son of earth decline the snare?
Not folded arms & slackness of the mind
Can promise for the safety of mankind.
None are[ supirely?] good. Thro care & pain
And various toils the steep ascent we gain.
This is a scene of combat not of rest
Mans is laborious happiness at best
on this side death his dangers never ease
His joys are joys of conquest crownd with peace.
Teach me oh thou! that teacher art
Of every duty here below
The number of my days impart
Be thou my guide where'er I go.
I ask no gold nor length of days
I meet thy will thy will be done
I know that time itself delays
And gold but sparkles in the sun.
When hastend let me kiss the rod
I wish no transient joy to claim
Be thou my portion of my God!
Thro Heavens eternal year the same.