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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=457245" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>To Dr. Sherlock, On His Practical Discourse Concerning Death</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Forgive the muse who, in unhallow'd strains,<br>The saint one moment from his God detains;<br>For sure whate'er you do, where'er you are,<br>'Tis all but one good work, one constant prayer.<br>Forgive her; and entreat that God to whom<br>Thy favour'd vows with kind acceptance come,<br>To raise her notes to that sublime degree<br>Which suits a song of piety and thee.<br>Wondrous good man! whose labours may repel<br>The force of sin, may stop the rage of hell;<br>Thou, like the Baptist, from thy God was sent,<br>The crying voice to bid the world repent.<br>Thee youth shall study, and no more engage<br>Their flattering wishes for uncertain age,<br>No more with fruitless care and cheated strife<br>Chase fleeting pleasure through this maze of life;<br>Finding the wretched all they there can have<br>But present food, and but a future grave;<br>Each, great as Philip's victor son, shall view<br>This abject world, and weeping ask a new.<br>Decrepit age shall read thee, and confess<br>Thy labours can assuage where med'cines cease;<br>Shall bless thy words, their wounded soul's relief,<br>The drops that sweeten their last dregs of life:<br>Shall look to heaven, and laugh at all beneath,<br>Own riches gather'd trouble, fame a breath,<br>And life an ill whose only cure is death.<br>Thy even thoughts with so much plainness flow,<br>Their sense untutor'd infancy may know; <br>Yet to such height is all that plainness wrought,<br>Wit may admire, and letter'd pride be taught.<br>Easy in words thy style, in sense sublime,<br>On its blest steps each age and sex may rise;<br>'Tis like the ladder in the Patriarch's dream,<br>Its foot on earth, its height above the skies.<br>Diffused its virtue, boundless is its power;<br>'Tis public health, and universal cure:<br>Of heavenly manna 'tis a second feast,<br>A nation's food, and all to every taste.<br>To its last height mad Britain's guilt was rear'd, <br>And various death for various crimes she fear'd:<br>With your kind work her drooping hopes revive;<br>You bid her read, repent, adore, and live,<br>You wrest the bolt from Heaven's avenging hand,<br>Stop ready death, and save a sinking land.<br>O! save us still; still bless us with thy stay:<br>O! want thy heaven till we have learn'd the way:<br>Refuse to leave thy destined charge too soon,<br>And for the church's good defer thy own.<br>O! live, and let thy works urge our belief;<br>Live to explain thy doctrine by thy life;<br>Till future infancy, baptized by thee,<br>Grow ripe in years, and old in piety;<br>Till christians yet unborn be taught to die.<br>Then in full age and hoary holiness<br>Retire, great teacher, to thy promised bliss;<br>Untouch'd thy tomb, uninjured be thy dust,<br>As thy own fame among the future just,<br>Till in last sounds, the dreadful trumpet speaks;<br>Till judgement calls, and quicken'd nature wakes;<br>Till through the utmost earth and deepest sea<br>Our scatter'd atoms find their destined way,<br>In haste to clothe their kindred souls again,<br>Perfect our state, and build immortal man:<br>Then fearless thou, who well sustain'dst the fight,<br>To paths of joy and tracks of endless light,<br>Lead up all those who heard thee and believed;<br>'Midst thy own flock, great shepherd, be received <br>And glad all heaven with millions thou hast saved.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Matthew+Prior">Matthew Prior</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=457245" data-title="To Dr. Sherlock, On His Practical Discourse Concerning Death de Matthew Prior" data-description="Forgive the muse who, in unhallow'd strains,
The saint one moment from his God detains;
For sure whate'er you do, where'er you are,
'Tis all but one good work, one constant prayer.
Forgive her; and entreat that God to whom
Thy favour'd vows with k..."></div>
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