On the Death of Lady Hotham, June 30, 1756, Part 3

Go, blessed saint, to Jesus go.
Transported from the vale below,
Thou canst not quite depart;
Thy fair memorial stays behind,
Thy lovely portraiture we find
Engraven on our heart.

The friend by grace and nature dear.
The cordial friend, doth still appear.
Though ravish'd from our sight;
On earth a guardian angel found,
Diffusing bliss to all around.
And ministering delight.

As born her relatives to please,
Her own delight, and choice, and ease,
She cheerfully denied;
Servant of all, rejoiced to stoop,
Fill'd each domestic duty up.
And every part supplied.

But shining in her properest sphere,
(The sacred, social character,)
The mystery she display'd
Of Jesus by His church adored,
While next to Christ her earthly lord
She loved, revered, obey'd.

She more than shared his woe and weal,
Attentive to his safety still,
Engross'd by his alo?ie,
Her time, her thoughts, her health she gave,
Till, his far dearer life to save,
She sacrificed her own.

Twas aim'd at him, the deadly dart.
But, glancing, miss'd his fearless heart,
And pierced her faithful side:
Eager her consort to redeem,
She sicken'd and declined for him,
For him she droop'd and died.

Conscious of dissolution near.
Above all pain, regret, and fear,
Her paradise restored
She found with Jesus in her heart,
And calmly languish'd to depart,
And see her heavenly Lord.

"Ready to fly this moment home,
If Thou, my Saviour, bidd'st me come,
Me if Thou wilt receive,
Poorest of all Thy creatures me;
And surely now Thou say'st with Thee
I shall for ever live."

She spake, and by her looks express'd
The glorious everlasting rest

saints triumphant given;
Glided in ecstasies away.
And told us, through her smiling clay,
My soul is fled to heaven I