On the Grave of a Suicide by C. Cookson

Here, on this rude, unconsecrated ground
No sculptur’d stone thy graceless name declares,
No pious token, save this way-worn mound,
The lasting record of thy ruin bears.

Alas! for thee none toll’d the passing knell,
With decent turf none cloth’d thy shapeless tomb,
But as a land mark of thy grave they tell,
Unpitying, or unconscious of thy doom.

Deluded! who with self destructive hand
Could’st seek in Death a balm for mortal ill,
Unmindful that the deed by Him is scann’d,
Who hath to give and take, alike the will.

To thy sad mem’ry be this tablet rear’d,
And this the tribute to thy desp’rate fame —
“Stranger! here lies, who though to live he fear’d,
“Yet dar’d to die, and meet his God with shame.”

From: Cookson, C., Glastonbury Abbey, a poem. [Followed by] Minor Poems, 1828, W. Bragg: Taunton, p. 141.

Date: 1828

By: C. Cookson (fl. 1828)

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