The conflict's past, corroding care adieu!
My anxious thoughts have had enough of you;
But ah, my friends! when this sad stone you see,
Respect my children and remember me.
ON ROBERT CARLEY AND SONS.
"Tis God that lifts our comforts high,
Or sinks them to the grave;
He gives, and blessed be his name,
He takes but what he gave.
Fond parents cease, the falling tears refrain,
Cease to lament her fate, cease to complain;
Amongst the saints of Heav'n she's blest,
With endless joy and everlasting rest.
Here lieth one that once was born and cried,
Liv'd several years, and then-and then-he died.
Who departed this life, March 16, 1806;
The following lines are inscribed at her own request, when departing this life.
Accept, dear shade, the tribute of a tear,
'Tis all poor mortals have to offer here;
It was thy worth, that caus'd those tears to flow,
Thy gentle sweetness made affection glow;
Too young thy babes, to miss a mother's care,
Or know the danger that await the fair.
But oh! the pangs that rend the husband's heart,-
Claspt in her arms, he saw her soul depart;
In all his sorrows let his joys be this :
She chang'd terrestrial for eternal bliss.
A promising child who was endeared to her fond parents, by her amiable disposition and dutiful behaviour,
Died, June 5, 1803; aged 7 years.
From all the chequer'd ills below,
Mary secure shall sleep;
Her little heart no pang shall know,
Her eyes no more shall weep.
Let sorrow for her early doom,
No more in silence sigh;
For hope that points beyond the tomb,
Bids every tear be dry.
ON MRS. MARGARET RUSSELL,
The' long bent down by sore affliction's weight,
Her heart too good to murmur at her fate;
With christian fortitude she bore her pain,
Till death consign'd her to the dust again.
A precious soul belov'd of God,
And ransom'd with his Saviour's blood,
Did once inhabit mortal clay,
But now is fled to realms of day;
Beneath this stone the body lies,
His soul is gone to Paradise.
He felt the pow'r of gospel truth,
E'en in the thoughtless days of youth;
True living faith his works did show,
He follow'd Jesus, here below ;
His pious soul did often rise,
To the fair mansions in the skies.
The doctrine of the Saviour's cross
To him was gain, all else was loss;
His faith was strong, his hope was bright,
And now he dwells with God in light.
To this sad shrine, whoe'er thou art, draw near,
Here lies the wife most lov'd, the sister dear,
Who ne'er knew joy, but friendship might divide,
Or gave her husband grief, but when she died.
Oh! let this once-lov'd brother inscribe thy stone,
And with a husband's sorrows mix thy own ;
Tho' death with sudden stroke abridged thy days,
Thou shalt not lose thy well-deserved praise.
To perpetuate the memory of
Who was inhumanly shot in his own house, at Rotherhithe, by the hand of a perfidious domestic,
In the 49th year of his age.
Have you not seen beneath a dark'ned sky,
Quicker than thought the vivid light'ning fly;
Equally as quick was the insidious blow,
That pierc'd my heart, and laid my head thus low.
Merciful God, thou glorious king of Heav'n,
Forgive the deed, that I may be forgiven.
Amidst the humble walks of life,
The pious christian's found;
The tender mother, virtuous wife,
Are names which there abound.
Such was the clay which lies beneath
This stone, that bears her praise ;
Reader forego a thoughtless life,
And imitate her ways.
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