Though ever in your face and air
A thousand graces shine,
Yet most you charm engag'd in pray'r,
And almost seem divine.

Can ought such lustre to the eye
As piety bestow?
Or, to the face can ought supply,
So beautiful a glow?

The bosom then most charming heaves,
When with devotion warm;
And piety to beauty gives
Its fairest—brightest charm.

Soon flies the colour of the face,
Soon fades the form away;
Religion shines with lasting grace,
And charms, that ne'er decay.

And when the charms that pleas'd us here,
Shall with their owner die,
Far brighter beauty you shall wear,
Unfading in the sky.