On Myself

Good Heav’n, I thank thee, since it was designed

I should be framed, but of the weaker kind,

That yet, my Soul, is rescued from the love

Of all those trifles which their passions move.

Pleasures and praise and plenty have with me

But their just value. If allowed they be,

Freely, and thankfully as much I taste,

As will not reason or religion waste,

If they’re denied, I on my self can live,

And slight those aids unequal chance does give.

When in the sun, my wings can be displayed,

And, in retirement, I can bless the shade.