Classic Poem

How poor is Grandeur, and how vain is Power,
When awful Death invades the dismal hour!
The Miser's key must then resign its trust,
And Pleasure's garland withers in the dust!
But Evergreens there are, of lasting bloom,
Which ev'n shall grace the dark funereal gloom:
Ev'n round the silent tomb they glow divine,
And T, their shade shall honour thine.
There gentle Charity shall rear her balm,
Beneath Devotion's ever-sacred palm;
And Friendship too, shall plant her myrtles sweet,
Which yield their fragrance in the calm retreat.
No verse there needs — the artless rustic's tear
May say, he once was friendly — once sincere!
And whilst he bow'd beneath Affliction's rod,
He priz'd his Saviour , and ador'd his G OD .