THE MYRTLE, 



81 



Which outrage, wrongs, nor wounds destroy- 

 But wake its sweetness from repose ; 



Ah ! could I thus Heaven's gifts employ. 

 Worth seen, worth hidden thus disclose : 



In health, with unpretending grace. 



In wealth, with meekness and with fear, 



Through every season wear one face, 

 And be in truth what I appear. 



Then should affliction's chastening rod 

 Bruise my frail frame, or break my heart. 



Life, a sweet sacrifice to God, 



Out breathed like incense would depart. 



The Captain of Salvation thus, 



When like a lamb to slaughter led, 



Was, by the Father's will, for us. 

 Himself through suffering purified. 



