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XX
The next with dirges due in sad array
Slow thro' the church-way path we saw him born.
Approach and read (for thou can'st read) the lay,
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Grav'd on the stone beneath yon aged thorn.
Here rests his head upon the lap of earth
A youth to fortune and to fame unknown.
Fair science frown'd not on his humble birth,
120
And melancholy mark'd him for her own.
Large was his bounty, and his soul sincere,
Heav'n did a recompence as largely send:
He gave to mis'ry all he had, a tear;
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He gain'd from heav'n ('twas all he wish'd) a friend.
No farther seek his merits to disclose,
Or draw his frailties from their dread abode,
(There they alike in trembling hope repose)
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The bosom of his Father and his God.
