REFLECTIONS. 



Whate'er has beauty, worth, or power, 



Or grace, or lustre, is a Flower ; 



Wit is a Flower ; and bards prepare 



The Flowers of Fancy for the fair ; 



While Beauty's flowery fetters bind 



In sweet captivity the mind. 



Deep in the bosom dwells a Flower, 



Nor time shall taint, nor death devour ; 



A Flower that no rude season fears, 



And virtue is the fruit it bears ; 



Which join'd to patience, peace, and love v 



Will smooth the path to realms above. 



