Massachusetts Spy And Worcester Advertiser

Twas at the silent, solemn hour of night,
When, save the Nightingale's, no sound was heard;
When the pale moon bestow'd her visual light,
And when the milky way, serene, appeared;
Twas then, "the insatiate archer's" bow was bent,
Too fatal bent!—must I rehearse the tale?
Priest was the victim! let the wretch relent,
Whose quiver laid him low, and caus'd his friends to wail.
His virtues still survive—though he's no more:
His good example is a rule for all,
Who, from this life, to happiness would soar
Beyond the influence of "Eden's fall."
Too soon, alas! too soon the dye was cast!
Too soon, departed excellence, we mourn:
But the ALMIGHTY has the fiat pass'd,
And call'd his soul beyond life's evanescent bourn.
Mortals, when you behold the gloomy place,
Where rests in silent night, his slumbering clay,
Remember, that, ere long, each vivid face
Must fade to paleness, and, in dust decay.
But there's a blessed hope, through JESUS given!
That hope's the solace of the virtuous mind:
That hope shall virtue realize in HEAV'N,
That goal of Rest above—and sought by all mankind!