CCXLIII. Meditations on the Sepulchre in the Garden.

THE Sepulchres, how thick they stand
Thro' all the Road on either Hand!
And burst upon the startling Sight
In ev'ry Garden of Delight!

Thither the winding Alleys tend;
There all the flow'ry Borders end;
And Forms, that charm'd the Eyes before,
Fragrance and Musick are no more.

Deep in that damp and silent Cell
My Fathers, and my Brethren dwell;
Beneath its broad and gloomy Shade
My Kindred, and my Friends are laid.

But, while I tread the solemn Way,
My Faith that Saviour would survey,
Who deign'd to sojourn in the Tomb,
And left behind a rich Perfume.

My Thoughts with Extacy unknown,
While from his Grave they view his Throne,
Thro' mine own Sepulchre can see
A Paradise reserv'd for me.