Classic Poem

What Vertues few possess but by Retail
In gross could thee their Owner call;
They all did in thy single Circle fall.
Thou wast a living System where were wrote
All those high Morals which in Books are sought.
Thy Practice did more Vertues share
Than heretofore the learned Porch e'er knew,
Or in the Stagyrites scant Ethics grew:
Devout thou wast as holy Hermits are,
Which share their time 'twixt Extasie and Prayer.
Modest as Infant Roses in their bloom,
Which in a Blush their Lives consume,
So Chast, the Dead are only more,
Who lie divorc'd from Objects, and from Power.
So pure, that if blest Saints could be
Taught Innocence, they'd gladly learn of thee.
Thy Vertues height in Heaven alone could grow
Nor to ought else would for Accession owe:
It only now's more perfect than it was below.