Thursday Morning.

Guard well thy lips; none, none can know What evils from the tongue may flow; What guilt, what grief may be incurred By one incautious, hasty word. Be “slow to speak;” look well within, To check what there may lead to sin; And pray unceasingly for aid, Lest unawares, thou be betrayed. “Condemn not, judge not,”—not to man Is given his brother’s faults to scan; One task is thine, and one alone,— To search out and subdue thine own. Indulge no murmurings; oh, restrain Those lips so ready to complain! And, if they can be numbered, count Of one day’s mercies the amount. Shun vain discussions, trifling themes; Dwell not on earthly hopes or schemes; Let words of wisdom, meekness, love, Thy heart’s true renovation prove. Set God before thee; every word Thy lips pronounce by him is heard; Oh, could’st thou realise this thought, What care, what caution would be taught! Think on thy parting hour: ere long Th’ approach of death may chain thy tongue, And powerless all attempts be found, To articulate one meaning sound. “The time is short”—this day may be The very last assigned to thee: So speak that, should’st thou ne’er speak more, Thou may’st not this day’s words deplore.