A Thornewill Tree

Lines On the Death of a Gentleman Mary's Page
of Basford

[Work in Progess]

POEMS OF A NOTTINGHAM LACE-RUNNER
LINES
ON THE DEATH OF A GENTLEMAN OF BASFORD
He's gone!—the patient sufferer's gone to rest,
And every storm is o'er:
He's safely number'd with the blest
On Canaan's happy shore.
Long, with true Christian fortitude, he bore
The chast'ning scourge of the Almighty's hand:—
Ceas'd has the conflict, and the storm is o'er,
And, lo! he joins the sweet, angelic band!
When his dear relatives crowded round his bed,
And heav'd, with inward grief, the pensive sigh; Mourn not for me, the patient suff'rer said,
My peace is made—I'm well prepar'd to die.
When pious friends the sacred anthem rais'd,
With feeble pulse, he strove to swell the song; Strain'd every nerve to sing his Saviour's praise,
As fell the Hallelujahs from his tongue.
O! may we all, like him, be well prepar'd;
Like him, be found among the pure in heart,
Willing to linger—if 'tis God's command;
Or, summon'd—like him, ready to depart.
31

MARY BAILEY
Thy wife and daughter, dear—those bosom friends. Who, with such kind attention, watch'd thy side: Far as thy Heavenly power to earth extends,
Be still thy widow's—be thy orphan's guide.
Guard them, thro' life's rough road, to realms of bliss:
And if affliction's bread must be their food, Grant that, like thee, the chast'ning rod they kiss;
Give them thy spirit, and thy fortitude.
Deep in the gloomy grave! thy mortal frame
Is doom'd to moulder with its kindred dust! But that ethereal spark of Heavenly flame
Gains the reward of all its hopes and trust.