(_For the Mirror._)
To this low orb is lost a shining light.
Useful, resplendent, and tho' transient, bright!
For scarce has soaring genius reach'd the blaze
Of fleeting life's meridian hour,
Than Death around the naming meteor plays,
And spreads its cypress o'er the short liv'd flower.
The great projector of that grand design,[1]
In time's remotest annals, long will shine;
While sons of toil aloud proclaim his name,
And _life preserv'd_ perpetuate his _fame_.
[1] The Safety Lamp
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