Phillis Wheatley, From "On the Death of the Rev. Mr. George Whitefield," 1770:

Hail, happy saint, on thine immortal throne,
Possest of glory, life and bliss unkown
We hear no more the music of thy tongue,
The wonted auditories cease to throng.
They sermons in unequall’d accents flow’d,
And ev’ry bosom with devotion glow’d;
Thou didst in strains of eloquence refin’d
Inflame the heart, and captivate the mind.
Unhappy we the setting sun deplore,
So glorious once, but ah! it shines no more.