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Thus pious, pure, celestial peace
Did heavenly accents bring:
Now Death has proved his conquering might,
But Death without the sting.

For sweet was his departing hour,
When gently from his clay
Omnipotence did loose the bands,
And bore his soul away.




AN EPITAPHON A MOTHER AND HER SON.
Mother and Son in darkness sleep;
In death's cold damp they lie;
But both shall wake, when Christ's command
Shall summon all who die.

Then, as the blessed Saviour smiles,
And calls them to the skies,
What beauteous forms, divinely bright,
From these cold graves shall rise!