FASTING.

Is this a feast to keep,

The larder leane,

And clean,

From fat of veales and sheep?

Is it to quit the dish

Of flesh yet still

To fill

The platter high with fish?

Is it to fast an hour,

Or, ragged to go

Or show

A downcast look or snore?

No, ’tis a fast to dole

Thy sheaf of wheat

And meat

Unto the hungry soul.

It is to fast from strife,

From old debate

And hate;

To circumcise thy life.

To show a heart grief rent,

To starve thy sin,

Not bin;

And that’s to keep thy Lent.