So frail is the youth and the beauty of man,
Though they bloom and look gay like the Rose;
But all our fond care to preserve them is vain,
Time kills them as fast as he goes.

Then I’ll not be proud of my youth and my beauty,
Since both of them wither and fade;
But gain a good name by well doing my duty: 
This will scent like a Rose when I’m dead.

Song 4. 
The thief
8,7,8,7

Why should I deprive my neighbour
Of his goods against his will? 
Hands were made for honest labour,
Not to plunder, or to steal.

’Tis a foolish self-deceiving
By such tricks to hope for gain: 

All that’s ever got by thieving
Turns to sorrow, shame, and pain.

Have not Eve and Adam taught us
Their sad profit to compute,
To what dismal state they brought us
When they stole forbidden fruit?

Oft we see a young beginner
Practice little pilfering ways,
Till grown up a harden’d sinner,
Then the gallows ends his days.

Theft will not be always hidden,
Though we fancy none can spy: 
When we take a thing forbidden,
God beholds it with his eye.

Guard my heart, O God of heaven,
Lest I covet what’s not mine;
Lest I steal what is not given,
Guard my heart and hands from sin.

Song 5. 
The ant, or emmet.
11,11,8,11,11,8

These Emmets, how little they are in our eyes! 
We tread them to dust, and a troop of them dies,
Without our regard or concern: 
Yet, as wise as we are, if we went to their school,
There’s many a sluggard and many a fool
Some lessons of wisdom might learn.

They wear not their time out in sleeping or play,
But gather up corn in a sunshiny day,
And for winter they lay up their stores: 
They manage their work in such regular forms,
One would think they foresaw all the frosts and the storms,
And so brought their food withindoors.

But I have less sense than a poor creeping Ant,
If I take not due care for the things I shall want,
Nor provide against dangers in time;
When death or old age shall once stare in my face,
What a wretch shall I be in the end of my days,
If I trifle away all their prime!

Now, now, while my strength and my youth are in bloom,
Let me think what shall serve me when sickness shall come,
And pray that my sins be forgiven. 
Let me read in good books, and believe, and obey;
That, when death turns me out of this cottage of clay,
I may dwell in a palace in heaven.

Song 6. 
Good resolutions.
7,8,7,8

Though I’m now in younger days,
Nor can tell what shall befall me,
I’ll prepare for every place
Where my growing age shall call me.

Should I e’er be rich or great,
Others shall partake my goodness: 
I’ll supply the poor with meat,
Never showing scorn or rudeness.