Classic Poem

Remov'd from earthly scenes, by the kind Pow'r
Whose Providence with tender mercies blest
Her happy life—at the appointed hour,
The saint was summon'd to eternal rest.

She's gone! whose charity so oft reliev'd
The widow and the orphan, at her door;
From her dear children they her gifts receiv'd—
Her children, early taught to love the poor.

Alas! ye infant objects of her love,
Your loss no earthly being can restore,
Who can, like her, your op'ning minds improve,
And teach your thoughts on Virtue's wing to soar.

No more her voice, by Virtue harmoniz'd,
Shall sweetly modulated, please the ear—
No more her graceful manners shall be priz'd—
No more her placid looks her children chear.

Ye destitute of health and chearing food,
Forget your wants awhile—her grave attend,
And, bending o'er the relics of the good,
The tears of gratitude and sorrow blend.

Whilst Recollection prompts the mournful sigh,
As musing friends behold her verdant tomb,
When Spring's mild sun-beams, from the sparkling sky,
The rising flow'rets o'er her dust illume.

Let soft-voic'd Piety the soul inspire,
Whilst pure Religion, pointing to the skies,
Bids Beauty from the sacred spot retire,
With wishes to become as good and wise.

Thus, shall her hidden silent dust befriend
Immortal Virtue, and the musing fair,
Reclaim'd from Folly's path, submissive bend
To Providence—and for their change prepare.