Classic Poem

Warm-hearted, humble man! what need I say
More, than thy life was one long sickened day? —
That honest industry was but thy aim,
And thou didst nought to hurt another's name; —
That patience, when in trouble, kept thy mind
Still sweet and christian-like and truly kind; —
And thou wert free from guile, and revelled not
With those, who from their God, were far remote.

For thou didst only take a happy share
In sports of innocence! thou didst not dare
To help the careless profligate along,
But rather pitied, knowing such was wrong, —
Thou didst not join the unholy scoffer's jest.
But checked an acquiescence in thy breast;
Still thou wert happy — cheerful with a friend,
And were the last, if ever, to offend.

How have I seen thee smile, when I was near,
And even laugh till joy had dropt a tear;
Then would'st thou bid me chaunt some plaintive song,
Whilst Meditation wrapt thee, and a long
Suppressed deep sigh would tremble in thy breast,
As I sung of some fair one gone to rest;
Yes! thou compared'st its feelings with thine own,
And breathed reflectively to every tone.

Ah! could'st thou know that still in Memory's book,
I see thine image and thy kindly look;
And strive to chase Oblivion from its page,
And show thy likeness to a future age; —
Thou would'st be grateful, but, alas! thou'rt where
The habitants with earth no longer share;
And when I am in that cold valley laid,
Some friend may also whisper I am dead!
And pour warm tear-drops o'er my lowly bed.