"It matters little at what hour o' the day
The righteous falls asleep; death cannot come
To him untimely, who is fit to die:
The less of this cold world, the more of heaven,—
The briefer life, the earlier immortality."
"She is gone to the land where the careworn and weary
Enjoy the sweet rapture of sacred repose,
She has quitted for ever this wilderness dreary,
And bid a long farewell to time and its woes.
While on earth she was lov'd, and we deeply deplore her,
But, ah! shall a murmur escape from our breast?—
Do you ask how she lived? she set heaven before her;
Do you ask how she died? in the faith of the blest."
"A lowly follower of the Lord above,
While here on earth his soul on heaven was bent;
His words were kindness, and his deeds were love,
His spirit humble, and his life well spent:
These then, and not this stone, shall be his monument."
"No flatt'ring praises daub my stone,
My frailties and my faults to hide;
My faults and frailties all are known,—
I liv'd in sin, in sin I died.
