James Beattie (1735–1803)

ESCAPED the gloom of mortal life, a soul

Here leaves its mouldering tenement of clay

Safe, where no cares their whelming billows roll,

No doubts bewilder, and no hopes betray.

Like thee I once have stemmed the sea of life,

Like thee have languished after empty joys,

Like thee have laboured in the stormy strife,

Been grieved for trifles, and amused with toys….

Forget my frailties; thou art also frail:

Forgive my lapses; for thyself may’st fall:

Nor read unmoved my artless tender tale—

I was a friend, O man, to thee, to all.