Page:Poems Sigourney, 1834.pdf/273

272 Those boasted gifts, that often prove The ruin of the soul, Beauty and fortune, wit and fame, For thee it would not crave, But tearful urge a fervent claim To joys beyond the grave.

Oh! be thy wealth an upright heart, Thy strength the sufferer's stay, Thine early choice, that better part, Which cannot fade away; Thy zeal for Christ a quenchless fire, Thy friends the men of peace, Thy heritage an angel's lyre, When earthly changes cease.