In Memory Of The Late John Thornton, Esq.

Poets attempt the noblest task they can,     Praising the Author of all good in man,     And, next, commemorating worthies lost,     The dead in whom that good abounded most.     Thee, therefore, of commercial fame, but more     Famed for thy probity from shore to shore,     Thee, Thornton! worthy in some page to shine,     As honest and more eloquent than mine,     I mourn; or, since thrice happy thou must be,     The world, no longer thy abode, not thee.     Thee to deplore were grief misspent indeed;     It were to weep that goodness has its meed,     That there is bliss prepared in yonder sky,     And glory for the virtuous when they die.     What pleasure can the misers fondled hoard,     Or spendthrifts prodigal excess afford,     Sweet as the privilege of healing woe     By virtue sufferd combating below?     That privilege was thine; Heaven gave thee means     To illumine with delight the saddest scenes,     Till thy appearance chased the gloom, forlorn     As midnight, and despairing of a morn.     Thou hadst an industry in doing good,     Restless as his who toils and sweats for food;     Avarice in thee was the desire of wealth     By rust unperishable or by stealth,     And if the genuine worth of gold depend     On application to its noblest end,     Thine had a value in the scales of Heaven     Surpassing all that mine or mint had given.     And, though God made thee of a nature prone     To distribution boundless of thy own,     And still by motives of religious force     Impelld thee more to that heroic course,     Yet was thy liberality discreet,     Nice in its choice, and of a temperd heat;     And, though in act unwearied, secret still,     As in some solitude the summer rill     Refreshes, where it winds, the faded green,     And cheers the drooping flowers, unheard, unseen.     Such was thy charity: no sudden start,     After long sleep, of passion in the heart,     But steadfast principle, and, in its kind,     Of close relation to the Eternal Mind,     Traced easily to its true source above,     To him whose works bespeak his nature, love.     Thy bounties all were Christian, and I make     This record of thee for the Gospels sake;     That the incredulous themselves may see     Its use and power exemplified in thee.