To G. G. C. Esq upon the Report of his being dead

When to my Ears the dismal Tydings flew,
And my own Fears had made me think 'twas true,
A silent sorrow on my Soul did seize,
And fill'd my Breast with such sad thoughts as these.
Ah! why shou'd mortal Man on Life depend,
Which once, and none can tell how soon, must end?
Ev'n he who was but now all blythe and gay,
Cheerful as April's Sun, and fresh as May,
Whom every grace adorn'd and doated on,
In the full bloom of Life is dead and gone!
Cropt from his Stalk his vernal sweets decay'd!
So flourish't Jonah's Bower, and so did fade;
Nor cou'd that loss th' impatient Prophet bear,
He beat his Breast, and griev'd ev'n to despair:
Ah! how can I then mourn enough for thee,
Who always wert a Jonah's Gourd to me,
A shelter from the storms of Poverty?
Yet, Witness Heav'n, it is not only gain,
The loss of so much worth I most complain.
Honour he priz'd, and has this Honour gain'd,
'Twas ne'r by an ignoble action stain'd;
Nor was his Wit of a less sterling Coin,
He ow'd it not to Blasphemy, or Wine.
Ah! Why, ye Pow'rs! why was his Morn so bright,
If you design'd so soon to banish light,
And bring on gloomy death, and endless night!
But, lo! while thus I did indulge my grief,
The happy news arriv'd that gave relief:
A gust of Joy ran through each vital part,
Flam'd in my Eyes and revell'd in my heart!
He lives! I cry'd, — dy those that wish him ill,
He lives! the great young man is with us still;
He lives! that word shall dwell upon my Tongue,
He lives! shall be the burden of my Song,
He lives! and 'tis my Prayer he may live long.