Remarkable for Piety

What once had virtue, grace and wit,
Lies mould'ring now beneath our feet.
Poor mansion for so fair a guest,
Yet here she sweetly takes her rest.
Cold is the bed, and dark the room,
Yet angels watch about the tomb.
Pleas'd they patrol, nor sleep nor faint,
They only watch a sister saint.
'Till the loud music of the skies,
Relieves her guards, and bids her rise.