On The Death Of William Drake, Jun. Esq.

Late MEMBER for AMERSHAM, BUCKS.
HOW does the voice of woe, in accents wild,
To wound the list'ning ear sad sounds repeat!
Where Happiness of late serenely smiled,
Now pensive Sorrow seeks her mournful seat.
And does my honour'd Patron live no more?
Scarce can my heart the grief-fraught tale believe;
Too sure! the reign of dread suspense is o'er,
And flatt'ring Hope no longer dares deceive.
Th' etherial spirit, clogg'd with mortal clay,
No purer heights of virtue could attain;
Swift at th' Almighty's word she wing'd her way,
In native realms, to join th' angelic train.
He lives! he lives! above yon ambient sky!
His soul, but lent, a span, to dwell below,
A bright example beam'd on every eye,
Now call'd where Joy's exhaustless fountains flow.
Fain would my muse her last sad tribute pay,
But ah! what words, what language shall I find!
The silent tear alone can force its way,
Alone can speak the anguish of my mind.
Long shall this tear of gratitude be shed,
The sigh be heav'd to worth departed due;
While Virtue wails her fav'rite vot'ry fled,
While Mem'ry's eye his gen'rous deeds shall view.
Oh! to each honour'd mourner's grief-torn heart,
Now doom'd Affliction's poignant shaft to feel;
Could but my verse one soothing sound impart,
Till lenient Time the wounds of woe shall heal!
But, lo! Religion's voice divinely sweet,
Shall o'er the mind her balmy accents pour;
Him now you mourn (she cries) your soul shall meet,
Where Faith and Hope on angel pinions soar.
Each Christian grace that did his life adorn,
Dejected speaks, while sorrowing o'er his bier,
"Ah! son of Piety from earth withdrawn,
"Long shall the feeling heart thy name revere!"
Supreme Creator! Heav'n's Almighty Lord!
Ne'er be thy sacred will by man withstood!
Say, shall weak mortals murmur at thy word,
That calls thy servants to their blest abode?
No! may our hearts by fair Example fired,
The same unspotted path on earth pursue;
With ardent steps, by heav'nly zeal inspired,
Attain th' eternal meed to Virtue due!