To bless her name—who, conquering selfish pride,

Sought them on foot to tell how Jesus died!

Daughter of Scotland! when her bards shall trace

The noble deeds of thy illustrious line,

Thy sainted name a fairer page shall grace,

A brighter wreath for thee the minstrel twine

Than ever crowned thy warlike sires of yore,

Than history ever gave or genius wore!

[Pg 74]

[Pg 74]

TO THE MEMORY

OF

 R. R. Jun.

R. R. Jun.

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,

 Prev. P 68/176 next