This Preacher, silent yet severe,

Proclaims mortality to man;

Thou, like this emblem shalt appear,

When time has measur’d out thy span.

Here once was fix’d the dimpled cheek,

And from this sallow naked crown,

The curling honours, long and sleek,

Fell light and negligently down.

This part once fortify’d the brain,

The seat of sense, in ages fled;

From whence might flow ye raptur’d strain,

Or truth's, by sacred science bred.

Here hung the lips that once cou’d smile,

And here were fixt the orbs of light;

Extinguish’d now, corrupt and vile,

Suffus’d in everlasting night.

Behold! the sockets' empty space

Affrights the yet perceiving eye;

And spreads pale horror o’er the face

Of all who live, alas! to die.

Here yet remain, expos’d and bare,

By dust defil’d of earthy hue,

Those teeth that age vouchsaf’d to spare,

An useless and a mould’ring few!

Gay friend, here hung the list’ning ear,

That fed the soul with sense, by sound;

Here the loquacious tongue, and here

The nose, on this distorted wound.

These all had converse with the soul,

Mysterious work of heav’nly skill!

Clay join’d to spirit form’d an whole,

And quicken’d dust obey’d the will.

God call’d the life he lent, away,

The dust return’d from whence it came;

The spirit left the stiff’ning clay,

And death dissolv’d the wond’rous frame.

Be witty, mortal, bold and free,

Yet own thy knowledge centers here;

Ere long thy scalp like this shall be,

Not worth the sordid sexton’s care.

This once, perhaps, a statesman’s scheme

Of guilty wealth and pow'r contain’d,

Where now are all his flatt’ring dreams?

And whose the mighty sums he gain’d?

Perhaps, some former Garrick bore,

This scalp aloft with graceful pride,

Alas! his action charms no more,

That once new force to wit supply’d.

Perhaps, with cunning quibbles fill’d,

‘Twas once a lawyer’s—arch and dry:

To obviate ev’ry claim, tho’ skill’d,

He paid one debt, decreed to die.

Perhaps some haughty beauty’s charms,

Adorn’d this bone with white and red;

No more the nymph the world alarms,

The lillies and the roses fled.

Perhaps a crown these temples bound,

Before it subject nations bow’d,

Now undistinguish’d, in the ground,

The beggar tramples on the proud.

What cause has mortal flesh to boast

Of transient knowledge, wealth, and pow’r!

The summons comes, our breath is lost,

And all are nothing in an hour.

All, all must pass this dreary road

To dust and silence, cold and gloom,

All rest in one obscure abode,

The dwelling of the world, the tomb.

O thou whose gift is life! bestow

Yet more in virtue and in truth,

And lead me thro’ this vale of woe,

The staff of age, and guide of youth.

Sustain me in the mortal hour,

For then ‘tis thine alone to save;

Then let me triumph in thy pow’r,

A joyful victor o’er the grave.