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Her Soul, too heavenly for an house of clay,
Soon wore its earth-built Mansion to decay;
In the last struggles of departing breath,
She saw her Saviour gild the bed of Death,
Heard his mild accents, tun'd to peace and love,
Breathe a blest welcome, to the Realms above;
To those bright Regions, that celestial shore,
Where friends, long lost, shall meet, to part no more.
"Blest Lord I come! my hopes have not been vain,"
Upon her lifeless cheek, extatic smiles remain.
FINIS.
PARKES, PRINTER and AUCTIONEER, ASHBOURN.
