Might toss on the billows of woe,
And ne’er find the Mansion of Rest.
Pleasure’s path I determined to try,
But Prudence I met in the way:
Conviction flash’d light from her eye,
And appear’d to illumine my day.
She cried, as she showed me a grave,
With nettles and wild flowers dress’d,
On which the dark cypress did wave,
“Behold then the Mansion of Rest.”