'Twas thus, as under Shade I stood,
I sung my Wishes to the Wood,
And lost in Thought, no more perceiv'd
The Branches whisper as they wav'd:
It seem'd, as all the quiet Place
Confess'd the Presence of the Grace.
When thus she spoke — Go rule thy Will,
Bid thy wild Passions all be still,
Know God — and bring thy Heart to know,
The Joys which from Religion flow:
Then ev'ry Grace shall prove its Guest,
And I'll be there to crown the rest.