In vain they flow to wet the dusty plain,
Your sighs are wafted to the skies in vain;
Your pains they witness, but they can no more,
While Death reigns tyrant o'er this mortal shore.
The glowing stars and silver queen of light
At last must perish in the gloom of night;
Resign thy friends to that Almighty hand
Which gave them life, and bow to his command;
Thine Avis give without a murmuring heart,
Though half thy soul be fated to depart.
To shining guards consign thine infant care,
To waft triumphant through the seas of air:
Her soul, enlarged, to heavenly pleasure springs,
She feeds on truth and uncreated things.
Methinks I hear her in the realms above,
And leaning forward with a filial love,
Invite you there to share immortal bliss
Unknown, untasted in a state like this.
With tow'ring hopes, and growing grace arise,
And seek beatitude beyond the skies.
ON THE DEATH OF DR. SAMUEL MARSHALL,
1771.
Through thickest glooms look back, immortal shade,
On that confusion which thy death has made;
