Classic Poem

TO THE MEMORY OF A GENTLEMAN WHO DIED ON HIS PASSAGE FROM THE WEST INDIES .

Let pompous epitaphs extol the praise
Of wealthy vice, of crown'd, or titled shame!
But while the poet tries their fame to raise,
The marble dooms to infamy their name.

Thy grave, alas! no sculptur'd stone shall hide,
The sea possesses all thy mortal part!
Old ocean o'er thy bosom heaves his tide,
But still thy mem'ry warms a parent's heart.

The many virtues of his early youth
Oft she remembers, with a rising sigh!
And thinks it hard that honour, wisdom, truth,
Should but be born to blossom, blow, and die!

Would you, who read this plain and artless line,
Have pious drops bedew your mortal dust;
Your mind to Heav'n's Eternal will resign,
And place, like him, in God your constant trust!

He bow'd with patience to affliction's rod,
And never shed one weak, one murmuring tear;
Resign'd his clay to death, his soul to God,
And died without a groan, without a fear!