John & Charles Wesley · 25 of 258

Employment

From the same.

The flower now blooms, now hangs its head: So fleets my short-lived day! O, may my useful fragrance spread Before I fade away!

What though the throne I then should fill At the great day, were mine? The sweetness, which Thy gracious skill Diffused, its praise were Thine.

Let me not languish, then, and spend A life dead to Thy praise, As is the dust to which I tend By sure though slow decays!

All things are busy round but I Nor honey with the bees, Nor scent with flowers, nor husbandry Have I to water these.

I am no link of Thy great chain, A cumbrous, fruitless weed: O, mend my music! Give one strain Even to my useless reed!