O Death, thy call was soon,
My pains were smart,
But I, prepared,
Was ready to depart
In hopes to Heaven, there to sit
With Saints and Angels bright,
Singing Hallelujahs
In which I took delight.
* * * * *
Tread softly mortals o'er the bones
Of this world's wonder, Captain Jones,
Who told his glorious deeds to many
Yet never was believed by any.
Posterity let this suffice
He swore all's true, yet here he lies.
* * * * *
Here lies the body of John Bidwell,
Who, when in life, wished his neighbors no evil.
In hopes up to jump
When he hears the last trump
And triumph over Death and the Devil.
* * * * *
Here lies David Garrick, describe me who can,
An abridgement of all that was pleasant in man.
--_Goldsmith._
* * * * *
Beneath this stone of granite hard
Lies my own beloved pard.
* * * * *