Death, a Poem
On Cartha's banks, beside a sloping dale,
That gently opened to the western gale,
In homely cot, of neat, inviting form,
Nigh where old Cruickstone braves the howling storm,
Horatio lived—the generous and the kind,
The villain's terror, but the poor man's friend;
Each neighbour's joy be shared, and adverse growl,
For heaven-born Pity dwelt within his soul:
Well knew the poor his house; for from his door
None e'er returned, but blest his bounteous store;
Their sad complaints he heard—sighed when they grieved;
And scarce he heard them till his hand relieved;
Beloved by all he lived, sedate, though gay;
Prayer closed his night and ushered in his day.
Crookston (“Cruikstone”) Castle, photographed 2010.
But nought exempts from death: pale he was laid,His heaving breast by weeping friends surveyed,
Beside his couch I sat—he, sighing, took
My hand in his, then spoke with dying look;
His trembling hand methinks I feel and spy,
The drops that started in his swimming eye :
"Farewell, my friend! for now the time is come,
That solemn points me to my silent tomb,
Oh! were my life to spend, each breath I'd prize,
For sins on sins now start before my eyes.
Yet, he who is my hope—his cheering voice,
Soft calls me hence, to share eternal joys—
Oh! seek his generous aid"—Here failed his breath,
He sighed and slumbered in the arms of death.
Such was his end, and such the bliss of those
Who taste the stream that from Immanuel flows.
This cheers the gloomy path, and opes the gate
Where endless joys their glorious entrance wait,
Through boundless heavens, amid his beams to rove,
There swell the song of his redeeming love.
What though misfortunes in this life abound;
Though ills on ills, and wants on wants surround;
Though all we hold most dear on earth are torn,
Harsh from our grasp and to a distance borne;
Though friends forget us, though our enemies growl,
And earth and hell affright the trembling soul:
Lift up your heads ye poor! the time draws nigh
When all these miseries shall at distance fly;
When songs of bliss shall be your blest employ,
Your highest glory, your eternal joy;
Triumphant treading an immortal shore,
Where sin and sorrow shall assault no more.