'Twas his, mysterious regions to explore.
And scatter light, where all was doubt before:
He pressed the spring, and saw, with glad surprise,
Old mysteries vanish—novel forms arise.
Honoured alike in either hemisphere:
Auspicious Science smiled on his career.
His life—one lengthened course of mental toil—
With arts, and industry, has blessed the soil;
Those peaceful arts that bid her wealth expand,
And scatter riches o'er a grateful land.
Still—midst the fame spontaneous nations paid,
His heart its inward Monitor obeyed:
He felt that Fame was but an idle breath—
Vain as a chaplet on the brow of Death:
He looked beyond the boundaries of Time
For holier triumphs—lasting and sublime!
’Twas his, from all the busy world apart,
To muse on Heaven—to commune with his heart:
And taste with kindred souls, the sweet repose,
When life, like sunshine, brightens at the close.
A ripe Philosopher—a Christian Sage—
He closed in peace his earthly pilgrimage:
And dying, felt the soul-sustaining trust
That smiles at death, and blossoms in the dust!
W. B.