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AN EPITAPH ON A FINE, PROMISING BOY, WHO DIED, AFTER A LONG AND EXCRUCIATING ILLNESS.
  
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AN EPITAPH ON A FINE, PROMISING BOY, WHO DIED, AFTER A LONG AND EXCRUCIATING ILLNESS.

SURE is the truth; though hid from mortal sight;
“Whatever is, is,” ultimately, “right.”
Friends may lament; but he, who early dies,
Quits earth, and misery, for the blissful skies.
He, whose existence, woes, and joys contrast,
More charming feels the present by the past.
Here lies the frame terrestrial of a boy,
Mature, through torment, for the realms of joy.
Though young, he practised his Redeemer's mind,
The prayer, pathetic, but the will, resigned:
Now purer rapture gives his soul a flow
Which unembodied spirits only know;

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With such a rapture, 'midst the heavenly train,
He thanks his Maker for his previous pain.