While Some In Follys Pleasures Roll


While some in folly’s pleasures roll,
And court the joys which hurt the soul:
Be mine that silent calm repast,
A peaceful conscience to the last:

That tree which bears immortal fruit,
Without a canker at the root;
That friend, who never fails the just,
When other friends desert their trust.

With this companion in the shade,
My soul no more shall be dismay’d;
But fearless meet the midnight gloom,
And the pale monarch of the tomb.

Though heav’n afflict, I’ll not repine;
The noblest comforts still are mine.
Comforts, which over death prevail,
And journey with me through the vale.

The Lord will smooth my rugged way,
And lead me to the realms of day,
To milder skies and brighter plains,
Where everlasting pleasure reigns.