Thou Silent Door Of Our Eternal Sleep, Sickness, And Pain, Debility, And Woes, All The Dire Train Of Ills Existence Knows, Thou Shuttest Out For Ever! - Why Then Weep This Fix'D Tranquillity, - So Long! - So Deep! In A Dear Father'S Clay-Cold Form? - Where Rose No Energy, Enlivening Health Bestows, Thro' Many A Tedious Year, That Us'D To Creep In Languid Deprivation; While The Flame Of Intellect, Resplendent Once Confess'D, Dark, And More Dark, Each Passing Day Became. Now That Angelic Lights The Soul Invest, Calm Let Me Yield To Thee A Joyless Frame, Thou Silent Door Of Everlasting Rest. Lichfield, March 1790.