Gleanings from God's Acre: Being a Collection of Epitaphs

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John Potter Briscoe
Oliphant, Anderson, & Ferrier, 1883 - Epitaphs - 160 pages
 

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Page 80 - Man's life is like a winter's day, Some only breakfast, and away ; Others to dinner stay, and are full fed : The oldest man but sups, and goes to bed. Large is his debt who lingers out the day, Who goes the soonest has the least to pay.
Page 27 - My sledge and hammer lie reclined, My bellows, too, have lost their wind; . My fire's extinct, my forge decayed, And in the dust my vice is laid. My coal is spent, my iron's gone, My nails are drove, my work is done ; My fire-dried corpse lies here at rest, And, smoke-like, soars up to be bless'd.
Page 113 - Here lies the body of Lady O'Looney, great-niece of Burke. commonly called the sublime. She was bland, passionate, and deeply religious; also, she painted in water-colors, and sent several pictures to the exhibition. She was first cousin to Lady Jones; and of such is the kingdom of heaven.
Page 88 - No conquest she, but o'er herself, desir'd : No arts essay'd, but not to be admir'd. Passion and pride were to her soul unknown, Convinc'd that Virtue only is our own.
Page 81 - Our life is but a Winter's day — Some only breakfast and away. Others to dinner stay and are full fed, The oldest man but sups, and goes to bed. Large is his debt who lingers out the day : Who goes the soonest has the least to pay.
Page 117 - To love his country's freedom 'bove his own; But being immured full twenty year, Had time to write as doth appear His EPITAPH. H ere or elsewhere, (all's one to you, to me,} E arth, air, or water, gripes my ghostly dust, N one...
Page 27 - My bellows have quite lost their wind, My fire's extinct, my forge decay"d, My vice is in the dust all laid. My coal is spent, my iron gone, My nails are drove, my work is done : My fire-dried corpse lies here at rest, My soul, smoke-like, is soaring to be blest.
Page 108 - One charming bird to Paradise is flown : Yet are we not of comfort quite bereft, Since one of this fair brood is still our own, And still to cheer our drooping soul is left. This stays with us, whilst that its flight doth take, That earth and skies may one sweet concert make.
Page 78 - John Lee is dead, that good old man, — We ne'er shall see him more; He used to wear an old drab coat All buttoned down before.
Page 84 - Observe and here you'll see, On that same day come Seven years my husband's Laid by me.

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