31.12.2010, 12:03
THE LATE PASTOR OF WOLDSBY EBRIORUM
A shepherd sleeps where this fair tombstone stands,
Who made on this wild hill his fixt abode —
Who grasp'd in love the drunkard's trembling hands,
And touch'd his heavy heart with thoughts of God ;
He taught his flock by deeds and words and books ;
The peace of many a sober'd hearth he shared :
And many a sottish aspect was prepared
By hope in death, to answer the bright looks
Of their upbearing angels ! Bless his name.
Who purged your grandsires' lives, and still controls
Your own, and saves you from remorse and shame ;
O happy race ! to you in them he came !
O deep infolded blessing ! which unrolls
From sire to son—a charter for your souls !
A shepherd sleeps where this fair tombstone stands,
Who made on this wild hill his fixt abode —
Who grasp'd in love the drunkard's trembling hands,
And touch'd his heavy heart with thoughts of God ;
He taught his flock by deeds and words and books ;
The peace of many a sober'd hearth he shared :
And many a sottish aspect was prepared
By hope in death, to answer the bright looks
Of their upbearing angels ! Bless his name.
Who purged your grandsires' lives, and still controls
Your own, and saves you from remorse and shame ;
O happy race ! to you in them he came !
O deep infolded blessing ! which unrolls
From sire to son—a charter for your souls !