 | The harp and plow |  |
166
A POOR MAN'S EPITAPH.
No more by Fortune's freaks abused,
No more by brother man misused,
No more of Folly's deeds accused—
His actions done,
With Nature's works no more amused,
Here lies her son!
No more by brother man misused,
No more of Folly's deeds accused—
His actions done,
With Nature's works no more amused,
Here lies her son!
When Ruin, demon-like, assailed him
He ne'er complained that trouble ailed him,
For hope of heaven never failed him
While life remained,
And seeing Death approach, he hailed him
With joy unfeigned.
He ne'er complained that trouble ailed him,
For hope of heaven never failed him
While life remained,
And seeing Death approach, he hailed him
With joy unfeigned.
He 's gone of better clime in quest,
Where all the ‘weary are at rest;’
And said, with fears no more opprest,
He hoped to rise
And enter, as a welcome guest,
In Paradise.
Where all the ‘weary are at rest;’
And said, with fears no more opprest,
He hoped to rise
And enter, as a welcome guest,
In Paradise.
167
Pilgrim, who strays this hillock near,
Didst know the one who slumbers here?
His foibles shun with cautious fear,
His virtues heed;
Yea, follow Virtue wheresoe'er
Her steps may lead!
Didst know the one who slumbers here?
His foibles shun with cautious fear,
His virtues heed;
Yea, follow Virtue wheresoe'er
Her steps may lead!
| The harp and plow | |