That lost, with wearied mind, and spirit poor,
I drop my efforts, and can act no more;
With growing joy I feel my spirits tend
To that last scene where all my duties end.”
Hope, ease, delight, the thoughts of dying gave,
Till Lucy spoke with fondness of the grave;
She smiled with wasted form, but spirit firm,
And said, “She left but little for the worm:”
As toll’d the bell, “There’s one,” she said, “hath press’d
Awhile before me to the bed of rest:”