552.

Sleep, beloved! footsteps rude
Never on thy rest intrude!

But we thy friends will softly tread,
The hallow'd ground where thou art laid.
553.

Gentle she was, to all who knew her dear,
The tender mother and the friend sincere,
Her darling pleasure, comfort to impart,
To cheer the drooping, soothe the aching heart;
Unsoured by age, misfortune, or disease,

Her life was meekness, and her death was peace. 554.

Ever blessed are the happy dead who die
In Christ, for they shall reign with him on high.

555.

Alas! all beauty that has birth,
All splendour that is given,

To cheer, to glorify the earth,
Is but a gleam from Heaven.

556.

RICHD. HOWITT.

Resignedly he smil❜d on death,

And prayed with calm expiring breath,
"O God, thy will be done."

557.

Dearest of Mothers, best of friends, farewell! May this plain stone a son's affections tell : Through life thy virtues were his joy and pride, In death, his best example, and his guide.

558.

Time was, like you, I life possess'd;
And time will be when you shall rest,

559.

Esteem'd he was by all, by all approv❜d,
And died lamented, as he liv'd belov'd.
560.

To gaze upon the loved in death,

To mark the closing beamless eye,
To press dear lips, and find no breath-
This, this is life's worst agony!
But God, too merciful, too wise

To leave the lorn one in despair,
Whispers, while snatching those we prize,

"My kingdom come !-ye'll meet them there" ELIZA COOK.

561.

Thy trials o'er, and all thy sufferings past,
Safe anchor'd in the heavenly port at last,
Enraptur'd thou shalt endless praises sing
To thy deliverer Christ, thy God and King.
562.

If ever truth in epitaph was told,

Reader, for truth, this character behold;
To act uprightly was through life his plan,
Though poor he liv'd, he died an honest man.
563.

To-day the blossom buds and blooms,
But who a day can trust?

Since the tomorrow, when it comes,

Condemns it to the dust.

564.

JOHN CLARE.

Blessed be God. Compared with him,
No man on earth is holy called; they best
Stand in his sight approved, who at his feet
Their little crowns of virtue cast, and yield
To him of his own works the praise, his due.
CHARLES LAMB.

565.

Resign'd and patient to the last, she view'd
With calm submission her approaching fate,
And now far happier is her life renew'd,
Free from the troubles of a mortal state.

566.

All human things hang on a slender stay,
Those that are strongest soon are snatch'd away.

567.

What is death, that e'en its thought should make us sigh and weep?

The grave to me, but seems a couch of sound and holy sleep.

Why should I dread the fiat, when my trusting spirit knows,

That He who bids my eyelids fall will watch their

last

repose?

ELIZA COOK.

568.

Here rests a woman, good without pretence,
Bless'd with plain reason, and good sober sense;
Passion and pride, were to her soul unknown,
Convinced that virtue only is our own.
Heav'n, as is purest gold, by tortures tried,
The saint sustain'd it, but the woman died.

569.

POPE.

May heavenly peace be thy eternal doom,
So wish'd thy kindly heart to every one.

570.

What charms adorned thy youth, where nature

smil'd,

And more than man was given us in a child!

His infancy was ripe: a soul sublime

In

years so tender that prevented time;

Heaven gave him all at once; then snatched away, Ere mortals all his beauties could survey;

Just like the flower that buds and withers in a day. DRYDEN.

571.

In the deep summer thou dost sink to slumber;
Thou liest down to thine eternal rest;
Thou goest hence to join that happy number
Who, pure like thee, like thee are ever blest.
Go! loved one, to the bosom of thy mother,
Meet there the smile in infancy thy own;
Meet there thy infant sister and thy brother;
Knowing in heaven whom thou on earth hast
known.

RICHARD HOWITT.

572.

Death levels man-the wicked and the just,
The wise, the weak, lie buried in the dust.

573.

Oh, man! when thou art getting vain,
Of courtly rank or treasured gain,

Just turn towards the cypress tree,—
"Ashes to ashes" form the prayer,
And yellow skulls are crumbling there
Where thou shalt be.

ELIZA COOK.