228 pridk'b pictures. 



Here — lies a Senator, whose flowers of speech 

 Surpassed old IlUum's, Sparta's laurelled head : 



See ! where he lies : and that alone should teach 

 The living proud to venerate the dead. 



Why did he die amid Britannia's woe. 



Ere glory's out-stretched wings illumin'd the skies ; 

 Ere victory did her silver trumpet blow. 



Making the nations pale. Why did he die ? 



" Resurgam." Here sleepeth pure simplicity : 

 All beautiful in beauty's vesper guise : 



Pride heard her dying benedicity. 



Ere her wrapt spirit, mounting, kiss'd the skies. 



Pride's loud commotion desecrates man's sense ; 



And weak ambition soon neglects a God ! 

 My heart is fixed — I know the recompense — 



And tread upon your barren, flowerless sod. 



'Tis folly, all. E'en Sheba proved the king 

 A very coxcomb 'neath wisdom's fading hairs ; 



Why need we modern instances ! I sing 



Of Bible truths — and what most true appears. 



Below these time-worn stones, of pond'rous size, 

 How many fathers of the parish rest ! 



Their epitaphs proclaim them scarcely wise — 

 Did they perform humanity's behest ? 



Sat they in church and heard their Pastor pray. 

 Imploring blessings or averting care ? 



Heard they the silver bells make glad the day. 

 And dared their lips respond in mockery there ? 



These were no proofs of goodness in disguise, 



No indication of the s^irit-tried : 

 Religion's children are both good and wise, 



Nor are her dictates ever mis-applied. 



The stunted artizau, the man of trade. 

 The pilgrim, weary of the road he took. 



With each degree of colour and of shade. 

 Are they not blazon'd in salvation's book ? 



Yet mark, fond man — for hard it is to count 



Upon the souls that life-wrecked are, and found ; 



My heart grows sick — I tremble at death's fount — ■ 

 E'en while I meditate on pride's own ground.] 



