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Calmly to dwell on all that pleas'd before,
And yet to know that all can please no more—
Oh! glorious labour of the soul, to save
Her captive powers, and bravely mourn the brave!
To such, these thoughts will lading comfort give:—
Life is not valu'd by the time we live;
'Tis not an even course of threescore years,
A life of narrow views and paltry fears;
Grey hairs and wrinkles, and the cares they bring,
That take from death the terror or the sting:
But 'tis the spirit that is mounting high
Above the world; a native of the sky;
The noble spirit, that, in dangers brave,
Calmly looks on, or looks beyond the grave.
Such Manners was, so he resign'd his breath!
If in a glorious, then a timely death.
Cease
