9781785438745 by Anonymous

Author:Anonymous [Anonymous]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2016-11-30T00:00:00+00:00

We think ourselves awake, and are asleep;

So softly death succeeded life in her,

She did but dream of heaven, and she was there.

No pains she suffered, nor expired with noise;

Her soul was whispered out with God's still voice;

As an old friend is beckoned to a feast,

And treated like a long-familiar guest.

He took her as he found, but found her so,

As one in hourly readiness to go;

E'en on that day, in all her trim prepared,

As early notice she from heaven had heard,

And some descending courier from above

Had given her timely warning to remove;

Or counselled her to dress the nuptial room,

For on that night the bridegroom was to come.

He kept his hour, and found her where she lay,

Clothed all in white, the livery of the day:

Scarce had she sinned in thought, or word, or act,

Unless omissions were to pass for fact;

That hardly death a consequence could draw,

To make her liable to nature's law.

And, that she died, we only have to shew

The mortal part of her she left below;

The rest, so smooth, so suddenly she went,

Looked like translation through the firmament,

Or like the fiery car on the third errand sent.

O happy soul! if thou canst view from high,

Where thou art all intelligence, all eye,

If looking up to God, or down to us,

Thou find'st, that any way be pervious,

Survey the ruins of thy house, and see

Thy widowed and thy orphan family;

Look on thy tender pledges left behind;

And, if thou canst a vacant minute find

From heavenly joys, that interval afford

To thy sad children, and thy mourning lord.

See how they grieve, mistaken in their love,

And shed a beam of comfort from above;

Give them, as much as mortal eyes can bear,

A transient view of thy full glories there;

That they with moderate sorrow may sustain,

And mollify their losses in thy gain.

Or else divide the grief; for such thou wert,

That should not all relations bear a part,

It were enough to break a single heart.

Let this suffice: nor thou, great saint, refuse

This humble tribute, of no vulgar muse;

Who, not by cares, or wants, or age deprest,

Stems a wild deluge with a dauntless breast;

And dares to sing thy praises in a clime

Where vice triumphs, and virtue is a crime;

Where e'en to draw the picture of thy mind,

Is satire on the most of human kind:

Take it, while yet 'tis praise; before my rage,

Unsafely just, break loose on this bad age;

So bad, that thou thyself hadst no defence

From vice, but barely by departing hence.

Be what, and where thou art; to wish thy place,

Were, in the best, presumption more than grace.

Thy relics, (such thy works of mercy are)

Have, in this poem, been my holy care.

As earth thy body keeps, thy soul the sky,

So shall this verse preserve thy memory;

For thou shalt make it live, because it sings of thee.

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