 | The miscellaneous essays and occasional writings of Francis Hopkinson, Esq |  |
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AN ELEGY
SACRED TO THE MEMORY OF Mrs. ANN GRÆME,
AND HUMBLY INSCRIBED TO Mrs. ANN STEDMAN AND Miss ELIZA GRÆME, SURVIVING DAUGHTERS OF THE DECEASED:
As a testimony of his sincere affection and regard by their much obliged Friend, FRANCIS HOPKINSON.
“I heard a voice from Heaven, saying unto me, Write, from henceforth, blessed are the dead which die in the Lord, Even so saith the spirit: for they rest from their labours.”—
Rev. xiv. 13.
Why move the marble jaws of yonder tomb?
Why gleams the day light on her sacred gloom?
Why doth she thus her dark abode prepare?
And what new guest is soon expected there?
Oh! see she comes; amidst a weeping throng,
In solemn pomp Monimia's born along:
Monima's breast hath heav'd its latest groan,
And dust and ashes claim her as their own—
Away false world—away, from reason's eye;
All trifling objects, vain ideas fly!
More awful scenes are present to my view,
And in my bosom leave no room for you.
The drooping pall; the bell's slow sullen sound;
The gaping grave; the weeping friends around;
By sacred priests the solemn service read;
Monimia number'd with the silent dead.
These, these are serious subjects, and I find
My soul to serious sentiments inclin'd,
Why gleams the day light on her sacred gloom?
Why doth she thus her dark abode prepare?
And what new guest is soon expected there?
Oh! see she comes; amidst a weeping throng,
In solemn pomp Monimia's born along:
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And dust and ashes claim her as their own—
Away false world—away, from reason's eye;
All trifling objects, vain ideas fly!
More awful scenes are present to my view,
And in my bosom leave no room for you.
The drooping pall; the bell's slow sullen sound;
The gaping grave; the weeping friends around;
By sacred priests the solemn service read;
Monimia number'd with the silent dead.
These, these are serious subjects, and I find
My soul to serious sentiments inclin'd,
Monimia's gone! up to the lofty skies
Methinks I see her sainted spirit rise;
Methinks I hear her voice triumphant sing,
“Grave where's thy victory? Death where's thy sting?
Methinks I see her sainted spirit rise;
Methinks I hear her voice triumphant sing,
“Grave where's thy victory? Death where's thy sting?
Say shall we mourn because her conflict's o'er?
Say, shall we weep, because she weeps no more?
Before the fullness of the Christian's joy,
Death must this transitory frame destroy;
Earth must to earth, the spirit to her flight,
For with its parent source shall each unite.
Say, shall we weep, because she weeps no more?
Before the fullness of the Christian's joy,
Death must this transitory frame destroy;
Earth must to earth, the spirit to her flight,
For with its parent source shall each unite.
Full of desires unsatisfied thro' life,
The anxious soul maintains continual strife:
Fast lock'd in clay, amid surrounding foes,
She pants and longs for freedom and repose.
With beck'ning hand, and a deceitful smile,
Here stands temptation ready to beguile:
With gloomy aspect, there a fearful train,
Of poignant sorrows and distracting pain:
And last of all, comes her tremendous foe,
The king of terror strikes the fatal blow;
The heart grows sick, unequal throbs express,
Nature's last labour, and extreme distress:
Oh! who can tell the agonizing throws;
When the lips tremble and the eye-lids close;
When the soul, struggling in another birth,
Strives to get loosen'd from encumb'ring earth,
When Horror's blackest midnight would prevail,
And all the help the world can give must fail;
Whilst the cold sweat oozes thro' ev'ry pore,
Till suffering nature can endure no more.
The anxious soul maintains continual strife:
Fast lock'd in clay, amid surrounding foes,
She pants and longs for freedom and repose.
With beck'ning hand, and a deceitful smile,
Here stands temptation ready to beguile:
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Of poignant sorrows and distracting pain:
And last of all, comes her tremendous foe,
The king of terror strikes the fatal blow;
The heart grows sick, unequal throbs express,
Nature's last labour, and extreme distress:
Oh! who can tell the agonizing throws;
When the lips tremble and the eye-lids close;
When the soul, struggling in another birth,
Strives to get loosen'd from encumb'ring earth,
When Horror's blackest midnight would prevail,
And all the help the world can give must fail;
Whilst the cold sweat oozes thro' ev'ry pore,
Till suffering nature can endure no more.
Oh! What is life, and all this life can give,
We taste, but not enjoy; we breath, not live!
True joy and real life are fixt above,
The only objects worthy of our love:
Lament not then, that lov'd Monimia's gone,
Her time of trial's past, her work is done;
Her hope did firmly on her God depend,
She stood Christ's faithful soldier to the end,
And shall that crown of victory obtain,
Which saints expect, and martyrs died to gain.
We taste, but not enjoy; we breath, not live!
True joy and real life are fixt above,
The only objects worthy of our love:
Lament not then, that lov'd Monimia's gone,
Her time of trial's past, her work is done;
Her hope did firmly on her God depend,
She stood Christ's faithful soldier to the end,
And shall that crown of victory obtain,
Which saints expect, and martyrs died to gain.
Not to this period were her views confin'd,
A prospect nobler far engag'd her mind;
Array'd in immortality to stand,
Beyond the reach of time at God's right-hand;
To lift her voice with ecstacy divine;
And join the song where shining myriads join,
Till Heav'n itself feels the prevailing sound,
And everlasting kingdoms tremble round:
To view his glory with undazzled eye,
Who for his carpet spread yon glitt'ring sky;
Who from his throne looks downward to behold,
Worlds glide o'er worlds, systems o'er systems roll'd;
To stretch the wings of thought from place to place,
Pierce the dark regions of unbounded space;
In full fruition ev'ry hope destroy,
And drop belief to grasp the real joy.
Such were the objects of her souls desire;
These did each virtue, ev'ry grace inspire,
The word of truth, her still unerring guide,
Faith, Hope, and Christian charity, supplied:
A noble fortitude, false fear disarm'd,
A steady piety her bosom warm'd;
She liv'd a bright example to mankind:
Peaceful she died, contented and resign'd.
A prospect nobler far engag'd her mind;
Array'd in immortality to stand,
Beyond the reach of time at God's right-hand;
To lift her voice with ecstacy divine;
And join the song where shining myriads join,
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And everlasting kingdoms tremble round:
To view his glory with undazzled eye,
Who for his carpet spread yon glitt'ring sky;
Who from his throne looks downward to behold,
Worlds glide o'er worlds, systems o'er systems roll'd;
To stretch the wings of thought from place to place,
Pierce the dark regions of unbounded space;
In full fruition ev'ry hope destroy,
And drop belief to grasp the real joy.
Such were the objects of her souls desire;
These did each virtue, ev'ry grace inspire,
The word of truth, her still unerring guide,
Faith, Hope, and Christian charity, supplied:
A noble fortitude, false fear disarm'd,
A steady piety her bosom warm'd;
She liv'd a bright example to mankind:
Peaceful she died, contented and resign'd.
Oh! may I strive her foosteps to pursue,
And keep the Christian's glorious prize in view:
Like her defy the stormy waves of life,
And with heroic zeal maintain the strife:
Like her find comfort in the arms of death,
And in a peaceful calm resign my breath.
And keep the Christian's glorious prize in view:
Like her defy the stormy waves of life,
And with heroic zeal maintain the strife:
Like her find comfort in the arms of death,
And in a peaceful calm resign my breath.
Græme Park July 1765.
| The miscellaneous essays and occasional writings of Francis Hopkinson, Esq | |