TKIBUTART VERSES, 415 



The poet, all 

 Their friend may call ; 

 And Nature's self attends his funeral. 



Although uith feeble wing 

 Thy flight I would pursue, 

 "With quicken'd zeal, with humbled prid?. 

 Alike our object, hopes, and guide. 

 One heaven alike in view ; 

 True, it was thine 

 To tower, to shine : 

 But I may make thy milder virtues mine. 



If Jesus own my name 

 (Though fame pronounced it never), 

 Sweet spirit, not with thee alone, 

 But all whose absence here I moan, 

 Circling with harps the golden throne, 

 I shall unite for ever : 

 A death then why 

 Tremble or sigh ? 

 Oh, who would wish to live, but he who fears to die ! 



JOSIAH CONDER. 

 5tli Dec. 1807. 



LINES 

 On the Death of 2Ir Henry Kirke White. 



BY THE REV. J. PLUMPTRE. 



StJCH talents and such piety combin'd, 



"NVith such unfeign'd humility of mind, 



Bespoke him fair to tread the way to fame. 



And live an honour to the Christian name. 



But Heaven was pleased to stop his fleeting hour. 



And blight the fragrance of the opening flow'r 



"We mourn — but not for him, removed from pain ; 



Our loss, we trust, is his etei-nal gain : 



With him well strive to win the Saviour's love. 



And hope to join him with the blest above. 



24th Oct. 1806. 



