HARBY.
Mary Hill, died 1784.
With pain and sickness wasted to a bone,
Long time to gracious Heaven I made my moan;
Then God at length to my complaint gave ear,
And sent kind Death to ease my pain and care.
Physicians could no longer save the life
Of a tender mother and a loving wife.
Lincolnshire.
The following quaint memorials of the unhonoured dead, are by the minister of the small and retired village of Waddingham. They have, at all events, the charm of originality, and were long ago inscribed in that quiet nook, where “many a holy text around is strewn, teaching the rustic moralist to die.”
In love we liv’d, in peace did part,
All tho it cot us to the heart.
O dear—what thoughts whe two had
To get for our 12 Children Bread;
Lord! send her health them to maintain:—
I hope to meet my love again.
O angry death yt would not be deny’d,
But break ye bonds of love so firmly ty’d!
She was a loving wife, a tender nurse,
And a faithful friend in every case.
SLEAFORD.
On Henry Fox, a weaver.
Of tender threads this mortal web is made,
The woof and warf, and colours early fade;
When pow’r divine awakes the sleeping dust,
He gives immortal garments to the just.