Ye blest memorials of a parent's worth,
Whose gentle spirit though in glory shrined,
Even now perchance regards this grovelling earth,
And regulates, unseen, this wayward mind.

O, where a worthy offering may I find,
For that benignant hand, whose friendly zeal,
Such dear deposits to my care consigned—
Or how the sense of gratitude reveal?

To meet the strong emotion that I feel,
For power of language I but vainly seek;
Vainly before the Muse's altar kneel,
Who owns her choicest energies are weak,

To point of grief and joy, that high excess,
Which tears and silence can alone express.