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The VANITY.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 


128

The VANITY.

I

Poor fading Pleasures to pursue,
I know 'tis base, as well as you;
But whilst this Lump of Flesh I wear,
From doing so I can't forbear;
The old deceiving Serpent still
Corrupts and vitiates my Will.

II

From her blest Heart there flows a Line,
Which Nature made, and grapples mine.
Secret as that which tyes the Mind,
When to the Body 'tis confin'd:
If I love on, blame me no more,
Can I with Nature run in score?

III

When I reside in Egypt's Fields.
My Soul must taste on what it yields;

129

But when to Canaan I shall come,
Canaan the lovely wish'd for Home,
On nobler Objects I shall rove,
And feed on a Diviner Love.