On The Death Of The Rev. William Benwell, M.A.

ON THE DEATH OF THE REV. WILLIAM BENWELL, M.A.

Thou camest with kind looks, when on the brink Almost of death I strove, and with mild voice Didst soothe me, bidding my poor heart rejoice, Though smitten sore: Oh, I did little think That thou, my friend, wouldst the first victim fall To the stern King of Terrors! Thou didst fly, By pity prompted, at the poor man's cry; And soon thyself were stretched beneath the pall, Livid infection's prey. The deep distress Of her, who best thy inmost bosom knew, To whom thy faith was vowed; thy soul was true, What powers of faltering language shall express? As friendship bids, I feebly breathe my own, And sorrowing say, Pure spirit, thou art gone!