Beneath that Stone, lies buried One,

Confin'd in narrow roome;

Whose vaster Mind, noe Rest could find,

Till laid within this Tombe.

Whil'st upon earth he was alive,

All was but aire and wind;

The World too narrow was to give

Contentment to his Mind.

Not all the Treasures, nor the Pleasures,

Where with the Earth is fill'd;

Can meat afford, fitt for the Board,

where Soules are to bee still'd.

Life is the Shadow of a Dreame,

Which He for sleep did rightly take;

Till Death did Jogge him from the same,

He never truely was awake.

But now mine Eies, (above the skies,)

are open; and I see

Things in the Light, not in the Night,

but cleerly shewne to Mee.

Yea Lord! though here my body lies

confus'd with other Earth;

At thy Command my Crummes shal rise

The same as at my Birth.

T. T.