Song XXXI. ELEGY ON R. CLAY, ESQ.
Hark! what mean yon piercing cries,
Throbbing breasts, and pensive sighs,
Death alas! has just removed
One by high and low beloved.
CHORUS.
Attercliffe, thy loss deplore,
Clay, thy donor is no more.
Orphans lisp “our friend is dead,
By whose bounties we were fed;”
Widows cry “we're all undone,”
Whilst their eyes like fountains run.
Tyrants live to tyranize,
Men of mercy scale the skies;
Mortals all combine this day,
To lament immortal Clay.
The Widow's Prayer.
O may his spirit sweetly rest
With those exalted saints above,
Who doubtless are for ever blest
By virtue of redeeming love;
Then will his bold bright soul give praise
To Christ his Saviour's endless days.
The Orphan's Lamentation.
Within this gloomy silent cell
My much lamented friend doth lie;
Since he a prey to reptiles fell,
My weeping eyes have not been dry;
His liberal hand, alas, no more
Can clothe and feed an orphan poor.
