CCXCIV. CHRIST'S Service, the Fruit of our Labours on Earth.

MY gracious Lord, I own thy Right
To ev'ry Service I can pay;
And call it my supreme Delight
To hear thy Dictates and obey.

What is my Being, but for Thee,
Its sure Support, its noblest End?
Thine ever-smiling Face to see,
And serve the Cause of such a Friend?

I would not breathe for worldly Joy,
Or to increase my worldly Good;
Nor future Days or Pow'rs employ
To spread a sounding Name abroad.

'Tis to my Saviour I would live;
To Him, who for my Ransom died,
Nor could untainted Eden give
Such Bliss, as blossoms at his Side.

His Work my hoary Age shall bless,
When youthful Vigour is no more;
And my last Hour of Life confess
His Love hath animating Pow'r.