ON THE DEATH OF DR. ADAM CLARKE.
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I hear his eloquence—but deeper still,
And far more eloquent, there comes a dirge
O'er the hoarse wave. "All that we boast of man,
Is as the flower of grass."
Farewell—Farewell!
Pass on with Wesley, and with all the great
And good of every nation. Yea!—pass on
Where the cold name of sect, which sometimes throws
Unholy shadow o'er the heaven-warmed breast,
Doth melt to nothingness—and every surge
Of warring doctrine, in whose eddying depths,
Earth's charity was drowned, is sweetly lost
In the broad ocean of eternal love.
