Page 80 - Graveyard

78 | G r av e y ar d H u m o r

212. On the unlucky Ship “Friday”:—

On a Friday she was launched,
On a Friday she set sail,
On a Friday met a storm,
And was lost, too, in the gale.

213. From Taibach Churchyard, South Wales:—

Hurrah! my boys, at the Parson’s fall,
For if he’d lived he’d a-buried us all.

214. From Swaffham Churchyard, Norfolk:—

Here lies the body of Thomas Parr;
What, old Tom? No! What, young Tom? Ah!

215. From Kensal Green Cemetery. Over the grave of Margaret
Hargrave, aged 31:—

‘Tis ever thus, ‘tis ever thus, with all that’s best below,
The dearest, noblest, loveliest, are always first to go:
The bird that sings the sweetest, the pine that crowns the rock,
The glory of the garden, the flower of the flock.
‘Tis ever thus, ‘tis ever thus, with creatures heavenly fair:
Too finely formed to ‘bide the storms more earthly natures bear,
A little while they dwell with us, blest ministers of love,
Then spread the wings we had not seen, and seek their home above.

216. From Maidstone Churchyard:—

Here Francis Jarratt lies—what then?
Frank, when his Master calls, will rise again.

217. From Kensal Green. On E. B. Browning, aged 7 months:—