On Mr. Pope's Death

These Lines to Pope for ever sacred live,
The best a grateful mourning Muse can give;
To him, now number'd with th' immortal Dead,
This Verse unfeign'd with flowing Eyes be read.
O Thou! applauded by the Wise and Great!
Nor Worth, nor Genius could postpone thy Fate:
Too long an Exile from the Worlds of Bliss,
By envying Angels snatch'd too soon from this:
Thy Strains seraphick shall their Anthems raise,
Give Heav'n new Harmony, and God new Praise.