Page:Memoir of the Reverend David Wilson (1).pdf/14



shriek is this among the village crowd,

Solemn the sound! ′tis sorrow′s deepest tone!

From street to street the cry is rais′d aloud,

Alas! alas! our well-lov′d Wilson′s gone!

Now thro′ Old Cumnock spreads a death-like gloom,

Quick to the spot the mourning groups repair,

Where Christian-like he met his final doom,

And soar′d to glory in a higher sphere.

In this broad world no mortal e′er requir′d

Less preparation for a world unknown;

For hope of Heaven had long his bosom fir′d,

And long he claim′d this region as his own.

Farewell! thou sweetest Herald of the cross!

Soft were Salvation′s accents on thy tongue,