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Whose stately piles and arches yet display
The venerable graces of decay:
Thus round the withered trunk fresh shoots are seen
To shade their parent with a cheerful green.
More health, dear maid! thy soothing presence brings
Than purest skies, or salutary springs.
That voice, those looks such healing virtues bear,
Thy sweet reviving smiles might cheer despair ;
On the pale lips detain the parting breath;
And bid hope blossom in the shades of death.
Beauty, like thine, could never reach a charm
So powerful to subdue, so sure to warm.
On her loved child behold the mother gaze,
In weakness pleased, and smiling through decays,
And leaning on that breast her cares assuage ;-
How soft a pillow for declining age !
For this, when that fair frame must feel decay,-
Ye Fates protract it to a distant day,
When thy approach no tumults shall impart,
Nor that commanding glance strike through the heart,
When meaner beauties shall have leave to shine,
And crowds divide the homage lately thine,
Not with the transient praise those charms can boast
Shall thy fair fame and gentle deeds be lost :
Some pious hand shall thy. weak limbs sustain,
And pay thee back these generous cares again ;
Thy name shall flourish, by the good approved,
Thy memory honoured, and thy dust beloved,
ON THE DEATH OF MRS. JENNINGS *.
Est tamen quietè, et purè, et eleganter actæ ætatis,
placida ac lenis senectus.
CICERO DE SENECT.
”T is past : dear venerable shade, farewell !
Thy blameless life thy peaceful death shall tell.
Clear to the last thy setting orb has run;
Pure, bright, and healthy like a frosty sun:
And late old age with hand indulgent shed
Its mildest winter on thy favoured head.
For Heaven prolonged her life to spread its praise,
And blessed her with a patriarch's length of days.
The truest praise was hers, a cheerful heart,
Prone to enjoy, and ready to impart.
An Israelite indeed, and free from guile,
She showed that piety and age could smile.
Religion had her heart, her cares, her voice;
'T was her last refuge, as her earliest choice.
To holy Anna's spirit not more dear
The church of Israel, and the house of prayer.
Her spreading offspring of the fourth degree
Filled her fond arms, and clasped her trembling knee.
Matured at length for some more perfect scene,
Her hopes all bright, her prospects all serene,
Each part of life sustained with equal worth,
And not a wish left unfulfilled on earth,
Like a tired traveller with sleep opprest,
Within her children's arms she dropped to rest.
Farewell! thy cherished image, ever dear,
Shall many a heart with pious love revere :
Long, long shall mine her honoured memory bless,
Who gave the dearest blessing I possess.
God of my life! and author of my days!
feeble voice to lisp thy praise; And trembling, take upon a mortal tongue That hallowed name to harps of seraphs sung. Yet here the brightest seraphs could no more Than veil their faces, tremble, and adore. Worms, angels, men, in every different sphere Are equal all,- for all are nothing here. All nature faints beneath the mighty name, Which nature's works though all their parts proclaim. I feel that name my inmost thoughts controul, And breathe an awful stillness through my soul;