Classic Poem

On the Death of Mrs. Katharine Kingscote a Child of Excellent Parts and Piety .

She did, She did — I saw her mount the Skie,
And with new Whiteness paint the Galaxy.
Heav'n her methought with all its Eyes did view,
And yet acknowledg'd all its Eyes too few.
Methought I saw in crowds blest Spirits meet,
And with loud Welcomes her arrival greet;
Which could they grieve, had gone with grief away
To see a Soul more white, more pure than they.
Earth was unworthy such a prize as this,
Only a while Heaven let us share the Bliss:
In vain her stay with fruitless Tears we'd woo,
In vain we'd court, when that our Rival grew.
Thanks, ye kind Powers! who did so long dispense,
(Since you so wish'd her) with her absence thence:
We now resign, to you alone we grant
The sweet Monopoly of such a Saint;
So pure a Saint, I scarce dare call her so,
For fear to wrong her with a Name too low:
Such a Seraphick brightness in her shin'd,
I hardly can believe her Woman-kind.
'Twas sure some noble Being left the Sphere,
Which deign'd a little to inhabit here,
And can't be said to die, but disappear.
Or if she Mortal was and meant to show
The greater skill by being made below;
Sure Heav'n preserv'd her by the fall uncurst,
To tell how all the Sex were form'd at first:
Never did yet so much Divinity
In such a small Compendium crouded lye.
By her we credit what the Learned tell,
That many Angels in one point can dwell.
More damned Fiends did not in Mary rest,
Than lodg'd of Blessed Spirits in her Breast;
Religion dawn'd so early in her mind,
You'd think her Saint whilst in the Womb enshrin'd:
Nay, that bright ray which did her Temples paint,
Proclaim'd her clearly, while alive, a Saint.
Scarce had she learnt to lisp Religion's Name,
E'er she by her Example preach'd the same,
And taught her Cradle like the Pulpit to reclaim.
No Action did within her Practice fall
Which for th' Atonement of a Blush could call:
No word of hers e'er greeted any Ear,
But what a dying Saint confest might hear.
Her Thoughts had scarcely ever sully'd been
By the least Foot-steps of Original Sin.
Her Life did still as much Devotion breath
As others do at their last Gasp in Death.
Hence on her Tomb of her let not be said,
So long she liv'd; but thus, so long she pray'd.