On The Religious Memory Of Mrs. Catherine Thomson, My Christian Friend, Deceased Dec. 16, 1646

When Faith and Love which parted from thee never,
Had ripen'd thy just soul to dwell with God,
Meekly thou didst resign this earthy load
Of Death, call'd Life; which us from Life doth sever
Thy Works and Alms and all thy good Endeavour
Staid not behind, nor in the grave were trod;
But as Faith pointed with her golden rod,
Follow'd thee up to joy and bliss for ever.
Love led them on, and Faith who knew them best
Thy hand-maids, clad them o're with purple beams
And azure wings, that up they flew so drest,
And speak the truth of thee on glorious Theams
Before the Judge, who thenceforth bid thee rest
And drink thy fill of pure immortal streams.

LATE OF IPSWICH, AND ONE OF THE SOCIETY OF FRIENDS.


From thy sad sire and weeping kindred torn,
    Thine is the crown of everlasting life;
On thy closed eye has burst a brighter morn,
    In realms where joy and peace alone are rife;
Thy soul, in Christ, enlightened and new-born,
    Has meekly triumphed over nature's strife,
And passed the dreary portals of the grave,
Strong in the faith of Him who died to save!

Soldier of Christ! thy warfare now is o'er,
    Thy toils accomplished and thy trials done,
And thou shalt weep and sigh, young saint, no more;
    With thee the scene is closed, the race is run.
Death heaved the bar of that eternal door;
    The palm is gained,--the victory is won,
And earthly sorrows shall no more alloy
Thy soul's...

Written After Perusing The Interesting Memoir Composed By Her Husband, The Rev. Greville Ewing.


Daughter of Scotland! may a stranger twine
    One cypress wreath around thy honoured urn?--
Yet, when I meditate on faith like thine,
    I feel my breast with sacred ardour burn;
Deep admiration checks the starting tear,--
Such drops would stain a Ewing's holy bier!

Death was to thee a messenger of love;
    He met thee in the path thy Saviour trod,
Bearing this blessed mandate from above,
    "Come, happy spirit--come away to God!
Thy works of piety on earth are o'er,--
Plume thy bright wing to reach the heavenly shore!"

Calm was thy exit from this troubled scene;
    Pain from thy lips no hasty murmurs wrung;
With brow unruffled and with mind ...

Methought I saw my late espoused Saint
Brought to me like Alcestis from the grave,
Whom Joves great Son to her glad Husband gave,
Rescu'd from death by force though pale and faint.
Mine as whom washt from spot of child-bed taint,
Purification in the old Law did save,
And such, as yet once more I trust to have
Full sight of her in Heaven without restraint,
Came vested all in white, pure as her mind:
Her face was vail'd, yet to my fancied sight,
Love, sweetness, goodness, in her person shin'd
So clear, as in no face with more delight.
But O as to embrace me she enclin'd
I wak'd, she fled, and day brought back my night.

Gone to thy Heavenly Father's rest!
The flowers of Eden round thee blowing,
And on thine ear the murmurs blest
Of Siloa's waters softly flowing!
Beneath that Tree of Life which gives
To all the earth its healing leaves
In the white robe of angels clad,
And wandering by that sacred river,
Whose streams of holiness make glad
The city of our God forever!
Gentlest of spirits! not for thee
Our tears are shed, our sighs are given;
Why mourn to know thou art a free
Partaker of the joys of heaven?
Finished thy work, and kept thy faith
In Christian firmness unto death;
And beautiful as sky and earth,
When autumn's sun is downward going,
The blessed memory of thy worth
Around thy place of slumber glowing!
But woe for us! who linger still
With fe...

This rich marble doth inter
The honoured wife of Winchester,
A viscount’s daughter, an earl’s heir,
Besides what her virtues fair
Added to her noble birth,
More than she could own from earth.
Summers three times eight save one
She had told; alas! too soon,
After so short time of breath,
To house with darkness and with death!
Yet, had the number of her days
Been as complete as was her praise,
Nature and Fate had had no strife
In giving limit to her life.
Her high birth and her graces sweet
Quickly found a lover meet;
The virgin quire for her request
The god that sits at marriage-feast;
He at their invoking came,
But with a scarce well-lighted flame;
And in his garland, as he stood,
Ye might discern a cypress-bud.
Once had the early...