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5 My God, I hate to walk or dwell
With sinful children here: Then let me not be sent to hell,
Where none but sinners are.
1 Why should our garments, made to hide
Our parents' shame, provoke our pride? The art of dress did ne'er begin,
Till Eve, our mother, learnt to sin. 2 When first she put the cov’ring on,
Her robe of innocence was gone;
In the sad marks of glory lost.
Our clothes, and call them rich and new! When the poor sheep and silk-worm wore That very clothing long before.
4 The tulip and the butterfly
Appear in gayer coats than I;
Flies, worms, and flow'rs exceed me still. 5 Then will I set my heart to find
Inward adornings of the mind; Knowledge and virtue, truth and grace,
These are the robes of richest dress. 6 No more shall worms with me compare;
This is the raiment angels wear;
Put on this blest apparel too.
Nor fears the rain, nor moth, nor mould; It takes no spot, but still refines;
The more 'tis worn, the more it shines. 8 In this on earth would I appear,
Then go to heav'n and wear it there:
1 LET children that would fear the Lord,
Hear what their teachers say; With rev'rence meet their parents' word,
And with delight obey. 2 Have you not heard what dreadful plagues
Are threaten'd by the Lord,
Or mocks his mother's word?
How cursed is his name!
And eagles eat the same.
Their parents honour due,
And live hereafter too.
1 Why should I love my sports so well,
So constant at my play,
And then forget to pray?
But, Lord, to learn thy will?
And less obey thee still?
How vain are all my thoughts!
And pardon all my faults.
And let me love to pray;
To what a child can say.
1 My God, who makes the sun to know
His proper hour to rise,
Doth send him round the skies. 2 When from the chambers of the east
His morning race begins,
But round the world he shines. 3 So, like the sun, would I fulfil
The business of the day;
March on my heav'nly way.
Nor let my soul complain That the young morning of my days
Has all been spent in vain.