In Memory of her Daughter, Anna (c. 1811)

Ah! how poor is Language to Empart

The Feelings of my Griefworn Heart.

Of Late what joy what Bliss expanded all my soul

Tranquil my days and swift each minute rolls;

Sweet were was the sound of Anna’s cheerful voice,

Dueteous her actions and most wise her Choice.

In youths gay scene her ardent mind aspired

To wisdoms lays & pious thoughts

At length from sorrow’s deepest gloom I rise

And strive to view my Anna beyond the skies.

Ye happy spirit say what is thy blest Employ

In that bright world where all is perfect joy?

There humbly bending at thy Saviour’s feet

With mingled Love and gratitude most sweet,

My Anna casts her Crown of Laurels down

And hails him Lord of all around His throne.

No doubt nor fear shall ever more arise

No more shall rise the anxious doubt or fear,

Nor Sin nor Sorrow cause the trickling tear,

But full fruition banish every thought

With which uncertainty has oft been fraught.

Jesus, so precious to thy soul below,

Does now his glory crown, his grace bestow;

O blest Inhabitant how great thy bliss

[gap in the manuscript]

My much lov’d Anna whilst in thought I trace

Thy dignity of Mein, Thy well known face,

Thy nimble step, Thy courteous graceful bow,

Thy Brilliant Eyes with sparkling lustre glow,

Thy gentle accents penetrating sense

To all around Instruction would dispense,

Thy voice melodious as the best tun’d Lyre

To Heaven taught lays thy voice would oft aspire,

Thy filial piety at once approved,

How much thou honourd, how much thou lov’d.

Ah my beloved Child! In vain I strive

To paint those virtues which in thee did live.

Nothing was hated by thy pious soul

But sin & Satan was

Thy faithful heart do [poem left unfinished]

Text: Attwater Papers, acc. 76, I.A.27; Whelan, Nonconformist Women Writers, vol. 4, p. 209.