When one by one our ties are torn, and friend from friend is snatched forlorn; when man is left alone to mourn, oh! then how sweet it is to die!
Anna Letitia BarbauldMan is the nobler growth our realms supply, And souls are ripened in our northern sky.
Anna Letitia BarbauldChild of mortality, whence comest thou? Why is thy countenance sad, and why are thine eyes red with weeping?
Anna Letitia Barbauld