On the Death of Lady Hotham, June 30, 1756, Part 2

Still let us on her virtue gaze,
With sad deHght and wonder trace
The favourite of the skies,
The child that lives her hundred years,
An hoary saint to God appears,
And fill'd with glory dies.

Her from the birth the Lord did draw;
His Spirit with meek, obedient awe
Her tender soul endow'd;
He fix'd the principle within,
The love of truth, the dread of sin,
The hunger after God.

While nature's will remain'd alive.
He never ceased to check and strive,
And heavenly power impart;
Her heart from evil He withheld,
Till love Divine the world expell'd
For ever from her heart.

Thenceforth, entirely ruled by grace.
She swiftly ran her heavenly race,
A secret saint unknown;
Stranger to pride and selfish art,
In singleness of eye and heart
She lived to God alone.

Whoe'er beheld, pronounced her bless'd
Her walk on earth the lamb confess'd,
The wisely simple dove.
The soul composed in Jesu's peace,
That only languish'd to possess
The fulness of His love.

Unconscious of the love bestow'd,
Whence all her words and actions flow'd,
She made her humble moan;
Hid from herself by grace Divine,
How sweetly did she wail and pine
To find the God unknown!

Known by her God, and well approved.
His servants for His sake she loved,
His messengers received;
From death to life her passage show'd,
By owning all who own'd her God,
And in His Spirit lived.

For them she toil'd with Martha's hands,
Yet listening for her Lord's commands.
Of Mary's part possess'd.
Till Jesus call'd her at His feet,
Spake her glad soul for glory meet,
And caught her to His breast.