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The service was confined to the reading of the Scriptures, to two prayers and the singing of Bonar's beautiful hymn, the last verse of which is "Broken Death's dread hands that bound us, Life and victory around us; Christ the King Himself hath crown'd us, Ah, 'tis Heaven at last." Mr. Sloane. On our way to the place of burial Mr. Sloane told me that Bonar's two finest hymns,
The epitaph, written by Bishop Ken, may be quoted: ALAS! HEE'S GONE BEFORE GONE, TO RETURNE NOE MORE; OUR PANTING HEARTS ASPIRE AFTER THEIR AGED SIRE, WHOSE WELL-SPENT LIFE DID LAST FULL NINETY YEARS AND PAST. BUT NOW HE HATH BEGUN THAT WHICH WILL NERE BE DONE: CROWN'D WITH ETERNAL BLISSE, WE WISH OUR SOULS WITH HIS.
"Eternal blessings crown my earliest friend, And round his dwelling guardian saints attend; Bless'd be that spot, where cheerful guests retire To pause from toil, and trim their evening fire; Bless'd that abode, where want and pain repair, And every stranger finds a ready chair: Bless'd be those feasts with simple plenty crown'd, Where all the ruddy family around Laugh at the jests or pranks that never fail, Or sigh with pity at some mournful tale; Or press the bashful stranger to his food, And learn the luxury of doing good."
Scattered at intervals and wreathing smoke Arising from such rustic roofs; the hill Was crown'd with a peculiar diadem Of trees, in circular array, so fixed, Not by the sport of nature, but of man: These two, a maiden and a youth, were there Gazing the one on all that was beneath Fair as herself but the boy gazed on her; And both were fair, and one was beautiful: And both were young yet not alike in youth: As the sweet moon in the horizon's verge, The maid was on the verge of womanhood; The boy had fewer summers, but his heart Had far outgrown his years, and to his eye There was but one beloved face on earth, And that was shining on him."
Never neglecting an opportunity to indulge his humour, when Lady Mary Wortley Montagu wrote a poem on the untimely death of a friend, he could not refrain from presenting her with a parody. By Lady Mary Wortley Montagu "Hail, happy bride! for thou art truly bless'd, Three months of rapture crown'd with endless rest.
Michael crown'd, With burnished wings and flashing sword that shone A beacon in the sunset, seen for miles, As tho' the Archangel floated in the air. The castle and the church a sanctuary And refuge were, to which men often fled For rest or safety, finding what they sought.
Among their toys a Casque they found, It was the helm of Ares; With horrent plumes the crest was crown'd, It frightened all the Lares. So fine a king was never known They placed the helmet on the throne. My girl, since Valor wins the world, They chose a mighty master; But thy sweet flag of smiles unfurled Would win the world much faster!
"With tender woe sad memory woos back time, And paints the scenes when youth was in its prime; The craggy hill, where rocks, with wild flow'rs crown'd, Burst from the hazle copse or verdant ground; Where sportive nature every form assumes, And, gaily lavish, wastes a thousand blooms; Where oft we heard the echoing hills repeat Our untaught strains and rural ditties sweet, Till purpling clouds proclaimed the closing day, While distant streams detain'd the parting ray.
My King crown'd me, And I and he Are one till the world shall cease to be! Oh sweet love story! Oh night of glory! The night when my King crown'd me!" No language could ever describe the marvellous sweetness of the voice that sung these lines; it was so full of exquisite triumph, tenderness and passion, that it seemed more supernatural than human.
Yet shores there are, bless'd shores for us remain, And favour'd isles, with golden fruitage crown'd, Where tufted flow'rets paint the verdant plain, And every breeze shall medicine every wound." In the year 1755, Dr. Hayter, bishop of Norwich, preached a sermon before the Society for the Propagation of the Gospel, in which he bore his testimony against the continuance of this trade.
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