The Late Pastor of Woldsby Ebriorum

A shepherd sleeps where this fair tombstone stands,
Who made on this wild hill his fixt abode —
Who grasp'd in love the drunkard's trembling hands,
And touch'd his heavy heart with thoughts of God;
He taught his flock by deeds and words and books;
The peace of many a sober'd hearth he shared:
And many a sottish aspect was prepared
By hope in death, to answer the bright looks
Of their upbearing angels! Bless his name,
Who purged your grandsires' lives, and still controls
Your own, and saves you from remorse and shame;
O happy race! to you in them he came!
O deep infolded blessing! which unrolls
From sire to son — a charter for your souls!