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 46 JOHNSON

When fainting Nature called for aid, And hovering death prepared the blow,

His vigorous remedy displayed

The power of art without the show.

In misery's darkest caverns known, His ready help was ever nigh,

Where hopeless anguish poured his groan, And lonely want retired to die.

No summons mocked by chill delay, No petty gains disdained by pride :

The modest wants of every day The toil of every day supplied.

His virtues walked their narrow round, Nor made a pause, nor left a void;

And sure the eternal Master found His single talent well employed.

The busy day, the peaceful night, Unfelt, uncounted, glided by;

His frame was firm, his powers were bright, Though now his eightieth year was nigh.

Then, with no throbs of fiery pain,

No cold gradations of decay, Death broke at once the vital chain,

And freed his soul the nearest way.

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