Reader, dost thou seek to know

What it is that lies below?

Ah! a gift, Mortality

Left too short a time with me.

'Twas a pearl of virtue true,

And a rose of freshest hue,

Gold of faultless purity,

Crimson of shy modesty,

Crystal clear of self-control,

Emerald of the chastest soul,

Ruby of a wedded heart,

Opal of sweet household art,

Sun among all women bright,

To one man his heart's delight,

To her home a fence secure,

In distress its pillar sure,

Busy hand in daily toil,

Cooling breeze in life's turmoil,

Sugar in the bitter day,

Medicine charming pain away,

Friendship in the hour of need,

Truth till death in very deed.

Gentle reader, ah! how much,

More than art of mine can touch,

Have I here resigned to fill

This deep grave: so God doth will!

Stand and ponder o'er in thought

What sore mischief Death has wrought;

Then if one that marks thee say,

Why dost linger by the way?

Answer, that there lieth near

Virtue's self encoffined here!