Dr. Andrew Ure: a slight sketch
by William Beattie
Lines composed after attending the funeral of the late Dr. Ure, F.R.S. January, 1857, by Dr William Beattie
2601711Dr. Andrew Ure: a slight sketch — Lines composed after attending the funeral of the late Dr. Ure, F.R.S. January, 1857, by Dr William BeattieWilliam Beattie

LINES

Composed after attending the funeral of the late Dr. Ure, F.R.S. January, 1857.

BY DR. WILLIAM BEATTIE.


The last sad office to our Friend is paid;
Affection lingers where his dust is laid:
But, from the Mourner’s cheek Hope wipes the tear,
And, pointing upward, cries—“He is not here!”

In him Philosophy and Faith combined;
Science enlarged, and Truth illumed his mind;
He harmonized Divine with human lore,
And weighed this life, with that which lies before:
The love of knowledge fired his ardent youth;
His age was radiant with the light of Truth:
And his, the best reward to Science given—
The calm research that brings us nearer Heaven.

Walking with Science—every step he trod—
Each problem solved—disclosed a present God:
Whose mystic hand unlocks the realms of Art;
Moves, and controls, the universal heart;
And in the sacred light of Nature’s laws—
Reveals, and leads us to the great first Cause!

'Twas his, mysterious regions to explore.
And scatter light, where all was doubt before:
He pressed the spring, and saw, with glad surprise,
Old mysteries vanish—novel forms arise.
 
Honoured alike in either hemisphere:
Auspicious Science smiled on his career.
His life—one lengthened course of mental toil—
With arts, and industry, has blessed the soil;
Those peaceful arts that bid her wealth expand,
And scatter riches o'er a grateful land.

Still—midst the fame spontaneous nations paid,
His heart its inward Monitor obeyed:
He felt that Fame was but an idle breath—
Vain as a chaplet on the brow of Death:
He looked beyond the boundaries of Time
For holier triumphs—lasting and sublime!

’Twas his, from all the busy world apart,
To muse on Heaven—to commune with his heart:
And taste with kindred souls, the sweet repose,
When life, like sunshine, brightens at the close.
A ripe Philosopher—a Christian Sage—
He closed in peace his earthly pilgrimage:
And dying, felt the soul-sustaining trust
That smiles at death, and blossoms in the dust!

W. B.