MISCELLANEOUS THOUGIIT.S. 405 The features of her soul, without disguise, Drawn by her own bless'd pen : A sweet surprise To mourning friends. The partner of her cares Seiz'd the fair piece, and wash d it o'er with tears, Dres'd it in flow'rs, then hung it on her urn, A pattern for her sex in ages yet unborn. Daughters of Eve, come, trace these heav'nly lines, Feel with what power the bright example shines ; She was what you should be. Young virgins, come, Drop a kind tear, and dress you at her tomb ; Gay silks and diamonds area vulgar road ; Her 'radiant virtues should create the mode. Matrons, attend her hearse with thoughts refin'd, Gaze and transcribe the beauties of her mind, And let her live in you. The meek, the great, The chaste, yet free ; the cheerful, yet sedate: Swift to forgiveness, but to anger slow, And rich in solid learning more than show, With charity and zeal, that rarely join, And all the human graces and divine,. Reign'd in her breast, and held a pleasing strife Thro' every shifting scene of various life, The maid, the bride, the widow, and the wife. Nor need a manly spirit blush to gain Exalted thoughts from her superior vein. Attend her hints, ye sages ofthe schools, And by her nobler practice frame your rules, Let her inform you to address the ear With conquering suasion, or reproof severe, And still without offence. Thrice happy soul, That could our passions, and her own controul: Could wield and govern that unruly train, Sense, fancy, pleasure, fear, grief, hope and pain, And live sublimely good! Behold her move Thro' earth's rude scenes, yet point her thoughts above. " Seraphs on earth pant for their native skies, " And nature feels it painful not to rise." Ye venerable tribes of holy men, Read the devotions of her heart and pen, And learn to pray and die. Burissa knew To make life happy, and resign it too, The soul that oft had walk'd the ethereal road, Pleas'd with her summons, tookher farewel flight to God. But ne'er shall words, or lines, or colours paint Th' immortal passions of th' expiring Saint, What beams of joy, angelic airs, arise O'er her pale cheeks, and sparkle thro' her eyes In that dark hour! how all serene she lay Beneath the openings of celestial day! Her soul retiresfrom sense, refines from sin, While the descending glory wrought within ; Then in a sacred calm resign'd her breath, And as her eyelids clos'd; she smil'd in death. O may some pious friend who weeping stands Near my last pillow with uplifted hands,
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