353. What, though thy body death endure ! Bright as the morning star As holy angels are. Yes; thou exultingly shalt spring From this imprisoning sod; Mount upwards with rejoicing wing, And glorify thy God. 354. Though Death may imprison, he cannot destroy me; for the word of the Lord hath prophesied that these dry bones shall live. 355. And dost thou, Stranger, come to gaze Alas! this stone shall only tell That mouldering dust lies here below; 356. If sin's disease thy soul endure, 357. Bethink thee, Reader, so misguided, 358. This perishable stone records the departure of an imperishable spirit. This earthly monument perpetuates the death of one whose eternal life is registered in heaven. 359. Had I a tongue whose silver sound Could I entrance the conscious earth To measureless delights give birth, And make them all thine own,— Alas! what would their joys avail, What could my powers supply, When strength, and flesh, and heart should fail?When thou wert call'd to die? 360. An epitaph is graven here, To warn thee, Reader, death is near: 361. Think'st thou that God, in awful judgment-hour, If he on earth were conqueror or king? O no: the book--the balances outspread, Will blanch the cheek, and smite the heart with dread; The proudest arm that sway'd an earthly rod 362. O, if thou in wandering through scenes of vexation, O'er floods of affliction wouldst lift up thy brow, Avoid the strong torrents of earthly temptation, And fly to "the Rock" that is higher than thou. 363. He was one of those men who were designed to throw a lustre around them, to exemplify the excellence of virtue, and to extend the happiness of mankind. This monument will moulder away and be forgotten; but the virtue it commemorates is imperishable. 364. Too long they live who live in sin, In early youth, to wing their way, 365. Happy is the pilgrim who, amid the thorns and briers that obstruct his pathway to a better world, can discover none of his own planting. 366. In shipwreck he perish'd: the loud howling main Was too strong for a mortal's control; The flood gather'd round him, he struggled in vain, And the billow pass'd over his soul. The deep caves of ocean shall give up their dead, If bliss be only found above, Your duty do, and put your trust |