While I transcribe the lines, I can powerfully imagine that I hear her voice repeating them.

The idea is exceedingly gratifying to me.
EPITAPH ON MRS.

A.B.
Forgive, blest shade, the tributary tear That mourns a thy exit from a world like this; Forgive the wish that would have kept thee here, And stayed thy progress to the seats of bliss.
No more confined to grovelling scenes of night, No more a tenant pent in mortal clay; Now should we rather hail thy glorious flight, And trace thy journey to the realms of day.
The above was her appointed task; and the other, which she voluntarily learned and spoke of with pleasure, is this:-- EPITAPH ON THE STONE ADJOINING.
It must be so--Our father Adam's fall, And disobedience, brought this lot on all.
All die in him--But, hopeless should we be, Blest Revelation! were it not for thee.
Hail, glorious Gospel! heavenly light, whereby We live with comfort, and with comfort die; And view, beyond this gloomy scene the tomb A life of endless happiness to come.
I afterwards discovered that the sentiment expressed in the latter epitaph had much affected her, but at the period of this little incident I knew nothing of her mind; I had comparatively overlooked her.

I have often been sorry for it since.

Conscience seemed to rebuke me when I afterwards discovered what the Lord had been doing for her soul, as if I had neglected her, yet it was not done designedly.