The Treasury Of Sacred Song

The lucky World shew'd me one day

Her gorgeous mart and glittering store,

Where with proud haste the rich made way

To buy, the poor came to adore.

Serious they seem'd, and bought up all

The latest modes of pride and lust;

Although the first must surely fall,

And the last is most loathsome dust.

But while each gay, alluring ware

With idle hearts and busy looks

They view'd, -- for Idleness hath there

Laid up all her archives and books, --

Quite through their proud and pompous file,

Blushing, and in meek weeds array'd,

With native looks which knew no guile,

Came the sheep-keeping Syrian Maid [145] .

Whom straight the shining row all faced,

Forced [146] by her artless looks and dress;

While one cried out, We are disgraced!

For She is bravest, you confess!