From a Poem on the Death of the Honble James Thynne younger Son of the Lord Viscount Weymouth.
.......
Meanwhile, ye living Parents, ease your grief
By tears allow'd as natures due relief.
For when we offer to the powers above,
Like You, the dearest objects of our love;
When, with the patient Saint in holy Writ,
We've learnt at once to grieve, and to submit;
When contrite sighs, like hallow'd incense, rise
Bearing our anguish to the appeased skies;
Then may those showers which take from sorrow birth,
And still are tending to this baleful earth,10
O'er all our deep and parching cares diffuse,
Like Eden's springs, or Hermon's soft'ning dews.
But lend your succors, ye Almighty Powers,
For, as the wound, the balsam too is your's.
