Many a flower of beauty

And sweetness blooms unseen,

And dies in its seclusion

On a bed of mossy green.

Better to have no talent,

No excellence to give,

Than permit vice to destroy

The talent we may have.

No dam can restrain the water

When leaks receive no care,

When the tempest in wild fury

Doth chafe and gnaw and tear,

And no hand is raised to succor,

No effort to repair,

Till the torrent bursts in fury

And fills us with despair.

'Tis too late then for repining,

Too late, for work or prayer.

[Pg 42]

DUTY DONE.

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