On the angelic Gilpin’s pow’rful tongue,
Who in perfection had the mighty art,
To form the soul and captivate the heart;
Pour Gospel balm into the wounded soul,
And vengeance on the harden’d conscience rowl.
When he hell’s gloomy stratagems did clear[70]
Man ceased, and Satan then began to fear
His empire’s utter ruin drawing near.
Great man! whom goodness did to greatness raise,
Nor forced applause, nor warmly courted praise.