But lo! the gates of pitying Heaven unfold:
A form, that earth rejoices to behold.
Descends: her energy with sweetness join'd,
Speaks the bright mission for relief design'd:
See! to Philario moves the flood of light;
And Resignation bursts upon his sight:
See! to the Cross, bedew'd with sacred gore,
Humbly she points, and bids the world adore;
Then sweetly breathing in his soul inspires
A Christian spirit, and devout desires.--
Hark! his last wish, his dying pray'r's begun:
"Lord, as in Heaven, on earth thy will be done!"
Calm is his soul; his painful struggles cease;
He bows adoring, and expires in peace.
O! Resignation; thou unerring guide
To human weakness, and to earthly pride,
Friend to Distress, who canst alone controul
Each rising tumult in the mad'ning soul;
'Tis thine alone from dark despair to save,
To soothe the woes of life, and terrors of the grave:
Thro' this rough world assist me with thy power!
Calm every thought! adorn my latest hour,
Sustain my spirit, and confirm my mind,
Serene tho' feeling, chearful tho' resign'd!
And thou! my friend, while thus in artless verse
Thy mind I copy, and thy thoughts rehearse;
Let one memorial, tho' unpolish'd, stand
Rais'd to thy friendship by this grateful hand!
By partial favour let my verse be tried,
And 'gainst thy judgement let thy love decide!
Tho' I no longer must thy converse share,
Hear thy kind counsel, see thy pleasing care;
Yet mem'ry still upon the past shall dwell,
And still the wishes of my heart shall tell:
O! be the cup of joy to thee consign'd,
Of joy unmix'd, without a dreg behind!
For no rough monitor thy soul requires,
To check the frenzy of too rash desires;
No poignant grief, to prove its latent worth,
No pain to wean it from the toys of earth;
Thy soul untroubled can alike survey
This gloomy world, and Heaven's immortal day:
Then while the current of thy blood shall flow,
While Heaven yet lends thee to thy friends below;
Round thee may pleasure spread a chearful scene,
Mild as thy heart, and as thy soul serene!
And O! when Time shall bid thee yield thy breath,
And take thy passage thro' the gates of death,
May that last path without a pang be trod,
And one short sigh conduct thee to thy God!
FELPHAM:
AN EPISTLE TO HENRIETTA OF LAVANT.
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