Classic Poem

Yes; She is Safely laid beneath the sod—
wrapd in the vision of her Saviour God.—
No blight the Sacred plant can e'er anoy,
Inhaling dews from springs of heavenly Joy.
Tho nature found the painful conflict hard—
Grace faith and patience brought a sweet reward,
Ah friend belovd how blessed to escape—
From every toil of life in varied shape,
The pains the sorrows of declining years,
Before the grasshopper a load appears,
From paths of usefulness be calld away—
And end thy task before the close of day.
In life belov'd lamented in thy death,
Shall be the motto of thy funereal wreath.
Fair to the sight ev'n youthful bloom remain'd—
And to the last its gracefulness retain'd,
And on her venerable brow was placd—
That dignity that time could never waste.
Sincerity the pomp of words denied,
And worth alone could her attachments guide—
While truth and virtue all her actions swayed—
And Secret piety without parade.
Religion promisd nothing but its power—
performd for her in the most trying hour,
Which made us wish to drop this cumberous load,
And take with her the bright etherial road.
Full twenty summers ripening by my side—
The good Honoria would my griefs divide—
My Joys she cherishd in her faithful breast—
Ah friend belovd were I with thee at rest.