Classic Poem

— — Non haec sine numine Divam Eveniunt.

It must be so — — on Terms so slight
Does Heav'n its best good Gifts bestow,
To point our fond Affections right,
And wean us from the World below.

See, all extinct the vital Flame,
She lies consign'd to sacred Rest;
She who but now where'er she came
Inspir'd with Gladness ev'ry Breast.

From This dark Scene of Human Woes
Her spotless Soul dismist away,
The full Rewards of Virtue knows,
And shines in God's eternal Day.

Celestial Joys has She to share,
Whilst we our gen'ral Loss deplore,
Since now, of all that's Good and Fair,
The brightest Pattern is no more.

Where shall we such rich Talents trace?
Such Prudence, with such Sweetness join'd,
Such pious Zeal, such courteous Grace,
Is there again in Human Kind?

Is there another Fair, where'er
Through all the Sex our Search can rove,
That equals her Parental Care,
Or Filial or Connubial Love?

But still the Tears that copious flow
O'er her sad Urn, are all in vain;
Nor when stern Fate has struck the Blow,
Can call departed Life again.

And You once, once alas! the dear,
The happy Partner of her Heart,
All that You may, my Lord , forbear
To urge the keen afflictive Smart.

Let Time and Nature work their Course,
Let Reason then prescribe Relief;
O, check the strong impetuous Force,
The total Luxury of Grief.

Your Friends, Your Country, this Restraint,
And ev'ry lov'd and valu'd Name;
Your tender Offspring — ev'n the Saint,
Ev'n She You mourn for, this must claim.

For what more pleasing can She find
Beneath the Regions of the Blest,
Than to survey Your noble Mind
Of ev'ry Sorrow dispossest?