Here you will find the Poem Epitaph [To This Grave Is Committed] of poet James Beattie
I was a friend, On this sad stone a pious look bestow, Nor uninstructed read this tale of woe; And while the sigh of sorrow heaves thy breast, Let each rebellious murmur be supprest; Heaven's hidden ways to trace, for us, how vain! Heaven's wise decrees, how impious, to arraign! Pure from the stains of a polluted age, In early bloom of life, they left the stage: Not doom'd in lingering woe to waste their breath One moment snatch'd Them from the power of Death: They liv'd united, and united died; Happy the friends, whom Death cannot divi O man, to thee, to all.
