O Solitude, Where Are The

Lord, It Is My Chief Complaint, That My Love Is Weak And Faint; Yet I Love Thee And Adore, Oh For Grace To Love Thee More!

A Story, In Which Native Humour Reigns, Is Often Useful, Always Entertains; A Graver Fact, Enlisted On Your Side, May Furnish Illustration, Well Applied; But Sedentary Weavers Of Long Tales Give Me The Fidgets, And My Patience Fails.

Friends, Books, A Garden, And Perhaps His Pen, Delightful Industry Enjoy'd At Home, An Nature, In Her Cultivated Trim Dress'ed To His Taste, Inviting Him Abroad - Can He Want Occupation Who Has These?

Absence Of Occupation Is Not Rest; A Mind Quite Vacant Is A Mind Distressed.

To See The Law By Christ Fulfilled, And Hear His Pardoning Voice Changes A Slave Into A Child, And Duty Into Choice.