Shall sheltered rest from many a storm,
By which the bark of man is tost,
Till virtue, peace, and heaven are lost.
Act rightly thou the mother’s part,
From vanity preserve her heart—
Small creeping weed, yet strong in power
To check the fruit and blast the flower.
Then will she see her charms decay,
As calmly as she views the ray
Of summer’s suns whose soft decline