To An Amiable Friend Mourning The Death Of An Excellent Father
Happy, thrice happy, that exalted mind,
Who, leaving earth and all its cares behind,
Has not a wish to ruffle or control
The equal temper of his tranquil soul,
Who, on a retrospect, is safe within;
No private passion, nor a darling sin,
Can check his hope, when death's insatiate pow'r
Stands hovering on the last decisive hour.