I.

Ripe in virtue, green in years,
Here, a matchless maid lies low:
None cou'd read, and spare their tears,
Did they but her sweetness know.

II.

Humbly wise, and meekly good,
No earthly lover's arms she blest;
But, full of grace , her Saviour woo'd,
And hides her blushes , in his breast,