"I was like grass, cut down in haste,
For fear too long should grow;
I hope made fit in heaven to sit,
So why should I not go!"
To be sure, why not? But is there not a little ambiguity in the "too long should grow?"
The next one, dated 1818, seems to commemorate the decease of a plough-boy who was rash enough to leave his proper vocation for another—a sad illustration of ne sutor ultra crepidam.
"When he that day with th' waggon went,
He little thought his glass was spent;
But had he kept his Plough in Hand,
He might have longer till'd the Land."