Here lies the remains of JAMES PADY, brickmaker, late of this parish,
in hopes that his clay will be remoulded in a workmanlike manner, far
superior to his former perishable materials.
Keep death and judgment always in your eye,
Or else the devil off with you will fly,
And in his kiln with brimstone ever fry:
If you neglect the narrow road to seek,
Christ will reject you, like a half-burnt brick!
In the old churchyard of Bullingham, on the gravestone of a builder, the
following lines appear:--
This humble stone is o'er a builder's bed,
Tho' raised on high by fame, low lies his head.
His rule and compass are now locked up in store.
Others may build, but he will build no more.
His house of clay so frail, could hold no longer--
May he in heaven be tenant of a stronger!
In Colton churchyard, Staffordshire, is a mason's tombstone decorated with
carving of square and compass, in relief, and bearing the following
characteristic inscription:--
Sacred to the memory of
JAMES HEYWOOD,
Who died May 4th, 1804, in the 55th
year of his age.
The corner-stone I often times have dress'd;
In Christ, the corner-stone, I now find rest.
Though by the Builder he rejected were,
He is my God, my Rock, I build on here.
In the churchyard of Longnor the following quaint epitaph is placed over
the remains of a carpenter:--
IN
Memory of SAMUEL
BAGSHAW late of Har-
ding-booth who depar-
ted this life June the
5th 1787 aged 71 years.
Beneath lie mouldering into Dust
A Carpenter's Remains.
A man laborious, honest, just: his Character sustains.
In seventy-one revolving Years
He sow'd no Seeds of Strife;
With Ax and Saw, Line, Rule and Square, employed his careful life.
But Death who view'd his peaceful Lot
His Tree of Life assail'd
His Grave was made upon this spot, and his last Branch he nail'd.
Our next is from Hessle, near Hull, where over the remains of George
Prissick, plumber and glazier, is the following epitaph:--
Adieu, my friend, my thread of life is spun;
The diamond will not cut, the solder will not run;
My body's turned to ashes, my grief and troubles past,
I've left no one to worldly care--and I shall rise at last.
On a dyer, from the church of St. Nicholas, Yarmouth, we have as
follows:--
Here lies a man who first did dye,
When he was twenty four,
And yet he lived to reach the age,
Of hoary hairs, fourscore.
But now he's gone, and certain 'tis
He'll not dye any more.
In Sleaford churchyard, on Henry Fox, a weaver, the following lines are
inscribed:--
Of tender thread this mortal web is made,
The woof and warp and colours early fade;
When power divine awakes the sleeping dust,
He gives immortal garments to the just.
Our next, epitaph from Weston, is placed over the remains of a useful
member of society in his time:--
Here lies entomb'd within this vault so dark,
A tailor, cloth-drawer, soldier, and parish clerk;
Death snatch'd him hence, and also from him took
His needle, thimble, sword, and prayer-book.
He could not work, nor fight,--what then?
He left the world, and faintly cried, "Amen!"