Classic Poem

who died of a lingering illness, aged eleven.

Henceforth be every tender tear supprest,
Or let us weep for joy, that he is blest;
From grief to bliss, from earth to heav'n remov'd,
His mem'ry honour'd, as his life belov'd.
That heart o'er which no evil e'er had pow'r!
That disposition, sickness cou'd not sour!
That sense, so oft to riper years deny'd!
That patience, heroes might have own'd with pride!
His painful race undauntedly he ran,
And in the eleventh winter died a MAN.