An Elegy on the death of the Rev. John Ogilvie, D. D. who departed this life the 26th Nov. 1774

Say, weeping Muse, what means that passing bell! What breathless corse demands that solemn knell! What soul, departed, moves in sad parade To Death's cold mansions, and the gloomy shade? But, ah! methinks the fatal news is spread, And fame proclaims, that Ogilvie is dead. The pious Ogilvie! is he no more! Then Zion mourn, thy heavy loss deplore; In solemn grief command thy tears to flow, And bid each bosom swell with anxious woe: Let all thy courts in sable robes be hung, And fun'ral dirges sound from ev'ry tongue: Thy faithful Pastor, from thy bosom torn, His charge to keep, shall never more return. (Yet, could our grief, or floods of tears, oh Death! Restore him spirit, and his vital breath; That frame inanimate, again should live, And thou thy victim to existence give: But vain is grief, when life's extinct and fled; The sluggish mass returns not from the dead; Nor sorrow, tears, or mourning, can retrieve The clay-cold victim from the op'ning grave.)

Speak ye, his Fav'rite, once peculiar care, How vast his worth, how great his virtues were: Say, with what grace his heav'nly accents flow'd— How much he lov'd, how much rever'd his God: What strong conviction, to his precepts join'd, Alarm'd each thoughtless, unbelieving mind: Whilst harden'd sinners trembled as they sate, Struck with the horrors of their dang'rous state, Their past offences in contrition mourn'd, And, sorrowing, sought the God they once had scorn'd. This, happy Saint, was here thy great employ— To serve thy God, thy sole, thy only joy: But time, and sense, are now with thee no more; Past are thy labours, and thy cares are o'er: Thy soul, enlarg'd, mounts the celestial road, And Seraphs safe conduct thee to thy God; Myriads of Angels thy arrival wait, And hail thy ent'rance in Jerus'lem's gate; Whilst Heav'ns high arch with shouts of triumph rings, And loud Hosannas to the King of kings: There, full fruition is thy just reward, And thou art happy in thy Saviour Lord; With Saints made perfect, thou thy song shall raise, And spend a whole eternity in praise.