The paragon and nursling of their souls!
Death touch'd him, and the life-glow fled away,
Swift as a gay hour's fancy; fresh and cold
As winter's shadow, with his eye-lids seal'd,
Like violet-lips at eve, he lies enrobed
An offering to the grave! but, pure as when
It wing'd from heaven, his spirit hath return'd,
To lisp his hallelujahs with the choirs
Of sinless babes, imparadised above.
Death, a Poem, by R. Montgomery.