Beside the bed where parting life was laid, And sorrow, guilt, and pain, by turns dismay’d, The reverend champion stood. At his control, Despair and anguish fled the struggling soul; Comfort came down the trembling wretch to raise, 175 And his last falt’ring accents whisper’d praise. At church, with meek and unaffected grace, His looks adorn’d the venerable place; Truth from his lips prevail’d with double sway, And fools, who came to scoff, remain’d to pray. 180 The service pass’d, around the pious man, With steady zeal, each honest rustic ran; Even children follow’d with endearing wile, And pluck’d his gown, to share the good man’s smile. His ready smile a parent’s warmth express’d, 185 Their welfare pleas’d him, and their cares distress’d; To them his heart, his love, his griefs were given, But all his serious thoughts had rest in Heaven. As some tall cliff, that lifts its awful form, Swells from the vale, and midway leaves the storm, 190 Though round its breast the rolling clouds are spread, Eternal sunshine settles on its head. Beside yon straggling fence that skirts the way, With blossom’d furze unprofitably gay, There, in his noisy mansion, skill’d to rule, 195 The village master taught his little school; A man severe he was, and stern to view; I knew him well, and every truant knew; Well had the boding tremblers learn’d to trace The day’s disasters in his morning face; 200 Full well they laugh’d, with counterfeited glee, At all his jokes, for many a joke had he; Full well the busy whisper, circling round, Convey’d the dismal tidings when he frown’d; Yet he was kind; or if severe in aught, 205 The love he bore to learning was in fault; The village all declar’d how much he knew; ’Twas certain he could write, and cypher too; Lands he could measure, terms and tides presage, And e’en the story ran that he could gauge. 210 In arguing too, the parson own’d his skill, For e’en though vanquish’d, he could argue still; While words of learned length and thund’ring sound Amazed the gazing rustics rang’d around, And still they gaz’d, and still the wonder grew, 215 That one small head could carry all he knew.