The Epitaph
by
Fair was her form, serene her mind,
Her heart and hopes were fix’d on high:
Her hand beneficent and kind
Oft wip’d the tear from sorrow’s eye.
The sweets of friendship soften’d care;
Love, peace, and joy, her soul possest:
Meekness perfum’d each rising pray’r;
And ev’ry rising pray’r was blest.
In heav’n we trust, her fainted spirit sings
Glad Hallelujahs to the King of Kings.
March, 1773.