Or bread from the cold flinty stone.
The wealth of the Indies, true peace can’t bestow,
The Crown Royal oft presses an aching brow,
E’en in laughter there’s madness—mirth coupled with woe.
As true peace in this world, then, can never be found,
Until deep in the heart Christian graces abound,
Give diligent heed to the keeping thy heart;
Unwearied in effort, repel every dart
So dextrously pointed by Satan’s black art.
True peace is from Heaven—a child of the skies,