Page:Memoir of the Reverend David Wilson (1).pdf/19

 Thy moon-like graces, changing much, Have here and there a spot; Thy sun-like glory is not such, Thy Husband changes not.

Thy white and ruddy vesture fair Outvies the rosy leaf: For ′mong ten thousand beauties rare Thy Husband is the chief.

Cloth′d with the Sun, thy robes of light, The morning rays outshine; The lamps of heav′n are not so bright, Thy Husband decks thee fine.

Though hellish smoke thy duties stain, And sin deform thee quite; Thy Surety′s merit makes thee clean, Thy Husband′s beauty white.

Thy pray′rs and tears, nor pure nor good, But vile and loathsome seem: Yet gain, by dipping in his blood, Thy Husband′s high esteem.

No fear thou starve, though wants be great, In him thou art complete: Thy hungry soul may hopeful wait, Thy Husband gives thee meat.