 | The rural lyre |  |
136
TO THE LORD BISHOP OF EXETER
MOURNING THE DEATH OF HIS SON, MR. C. BULLER, WHO DIED OF A DECLINE, WHICH HE BORE WITH RESIGNATION, AT BRISTOL WELLS.
The beauteous flow'r, borne from the parent tree
But yesterday, may renovate, and hold
Unseen a particle of being. He
Who made the ant, conceal'd her wondrous self
From her own judgment, and unquestion'd calls
The spirit of thy son. Afar he soars
To realms of bliss, obedient to his God.
The frame must slumber, whilst the soul goes forth
To claim her lasting heritage in worlds
Of new intelligence. With finite beams
Of vision giddy, and unapt to soar
Beyond terrestrial scenes, we vainly try
To descant truly on those glitt'ring orbs
That deck the firmament: stronger our wish
To stay the soul within her dwelling, long
And tenderly belov'd. Ah mourning Sire!
Sacred instructor of the heart, thy son,
Dear to his mild Creator, early drew
Enlarging faith, hope, piety and peace,
Down the steep heights of everlasting Truth:
Fill'd with reflection, patiently he saw
Approaching slowly, unrelenting Death—
Serene in anguish, fix'd his mental eye
On the unerring dart, and smil'd—I heard
His sabbath supplication, fervent praise,
And here proclaim his worth. So young, so good,
Should Lamentation strain her tearful eye
To watch his flight? Be comforted! diffuse
Soft consolation round! the sacred strain
Be thine to soothe with heav'n-attempting hope!
But yesterday, may renovate, and hold
Unseen a particle of being. He
Who made the ant, conceal'd her wondrous self
From her own judgment, and unquestion'd calls
The spirit of thy son. Afar he soars
To realms of bliss, obedient to his God.
The frame must slumber, whilst the soul goes forth
To claim her lasting heritage in worlds
Of new intelligence. With finite beams
Of vision giddy, and unapt to soar
Beyond terrestrial scenes, we vainly try
To descant truly on those glitt'ring orbs
137
To stay the soul within her dwelling, long
And tenderly belov'd. Ah mourning Sire!
Sacred instructor of the heart, thy son,
Dear to his mild Creator, early drew
Enlarging faith, hope, piety and peace,
Down the steep heights of everlasting Truth:
Fill'd with reflection, patiently he saw
Approaching slowly, unrelenting Death—
Serene in anguish, fix'd his mental eye
On the unerring dart, and smil'd—I heard
His sabbath supplication, fervent praise,
And here proclaim his worth. So young, so good,
Should Lamentation strain her tearful eye
To watch his flight? Be comforted! diffuse
Soft consolation round! the sacred strain
Be thine to soothe with heav'n-attempting hope!
Pensive and unpresuming is the lay
Attun'd to sorrows that impress with awe
Parental bosoms. Pow'rs enlighten'd wear
The stamp of Deity, brightest in woe,
Proving their origin amid the storms
Gathering perpetually round feeble Man:
The feeble fly; the good with firmness bear
Ills terrible to thought, and shine like Thee
Thro' the dark hour of separation.
Attun'd to sorrows that impress with awe
Parental bosoms. Pow'rs enlighten'd wear
138
Proving their origin amid the storms
Gathering perpetually round feeble Man:
The feeble fly; the good with firmness bear
Ills terrible to thought, and shine like Thee
Thro' the dark hour of separation.
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