|Condemned to hope's delusive mine,
As on we toil from day to day,
By sudden blasts, or slow decline,
Our social comforts drop away.
|Well tried through many a varying year,
See Levet to the grave descend;
Officious, innocent, sincere,
Of every friendless name the friend.
| Yet still he fills affection's eye,
Obscurely wise, and coarsely kind;
Nor, lettered arrogance, deny
Thy praise to merit unrefined.
|When fainting nature called for aid,
And hovering death prepared the blow,
His vigorous remedy displayed
The power of art without the show.
|In misery's darkest caverns known,
His useful care was ever nigh,
When hopeless anguish poured his groan,
And lonely want retired to die.
|No summons mocked by chill delay,
No petty gain disdained by pride,
The modest wants of every day,
The toil of every day supplied.
|His virtues walked their narrow round,
Nor made a pause, nor felt a void;
And sure th' Eternal Master found
The single talent well employed.
|The busy day, the peaceful night,
Unfelt, uncounted, glided by:
His frame was firm, his powers were bright,
Tho' now his eightieth year was nigh.
|Then with no throbbing fiery pain,
No cold gradations of decay,
Death broke at once the vital chain,
And freed his soul the nearest way.
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