My friends may try to rally me,
And chase my grief away;
I smile in sadness while they laugh,
But heed not what they say.
They must not know how deep I love,
Nor win my secret yet;
And when I smile amid the scene,
'Tis not that I forget.
My lips can never break the spell;
Her name is buried here!
And yet perchance she may bedew
My coffin with a tear!
But if in climes away from her
The sun of life should set,
Her name will quiver on my lip,
When I the world forget.
Z.
* * * * *
EPITAPH IN AWLISCOMBE CHURCHYARD, DEVONSHIRE.
Here lie the remains of James Pady,
_brickmaker_, late of this parish, in hopes
that his _clay_ will be _remoulded_ in a workmanlike
manner, far superior to his former
perishable materials.
Keep death and judgment always in your _eye_,
Or else the devil off with you will fly,
And in his _kiln_ with brimstone ever fry.
If you neglect the narrow _road_ to seek,
Christ will reject you like a _half-burnt brick_.
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