1663? A Squared Stone became Christ's Building rare; 15 1669. FROM AN ELEGIE UPON THE DEATH OF THE Oh that I were a Poet now in grain! How would I invocate the Muses all To deign their presence, lend their flowing Vein, And help to grace dear Shepard's Funeral! How would I paint our griefs, and succours borrow Now could I wish (if wishing would obtain) 5 ΙΟ Here is a subject for the loftiest Verse And could my Pen ingeniously distill I should think all too little to condole Could I take highest Flights of Fancy, soar 15 Aloft, If Wits Monopoly were mine, All would be much too low, too light, too poor, To pay due tribute to this great Divine. Ah, Wit avails not when th' Heart's like to break; speak. . . . . His Look commanded Reverence and Awe, 20 25 1 Well Humour'd was He (as I ever saw), And rul'd by Love and Wisdome more than Fear. To set forth this Rare Piece to be admir'd. He govern'd well the Tongue (that busie thing, Gravely Reserv'd, in Speech not lavishing, His Words were few, well season'd, wisely weigh'd, 35 And in his Tongue the Law of kindness sway'd. Learned he was beyond the common Size; Befriended much by Nature in his Wit And Temper (Sweet, Sedate, Ingenious, Wise); 40 On whom the God of all Grace did command Wise He, not wily, was; Grave, not Morose; Not stiffe but steady; Seri'ous but not Sowre; 45 (Strange if he had!); and would not wast an Hour; See where our Sister Charlstown sits and Moans! Charlstown, that might for joy compare of late As you have seen some Pale, Wan, Ghastly look, So Visag'd is poor Charlstown at this day; Cambridge groans under this so heavy cross, Renews her Griefs afresh for her old loss Of her own Shepard, and drops many a Tear. Cambridge and Charlstown now joint Mourners are, 65 Must Learnings Friend (Ah, worth us all) go thus, Our's now indeed 's a lifeless Corporation; Farewel, Dear Shepard! Thou art gone before, 70' Made free of Heaven, where thou shalt sing loud Hymns 75 In the sweet Quire of Saints and Seraphims. Lord, look on us here, clogg'd with sin and clay, And we, through Grace, shall be as happy as they. My Dearest, Inmost, Bosome-Friend is Gone! Now in an Huddling Croud I'm all alone, Blest be my Rock! God lives: Oh let him be, 1677. 1677. FROM A POEM DEDICATED TO THE MEMORY OF (BY N. R.) Well, Reader, Wipe thine Eyes! & see the Man Say, "I have lost." In Name a Drusius, 80 How many Angels on a Needle's point Can stand is thought, perhaps, a needless Point: And had as many gallant Propertyes As ere an Oak had Leaves or Argus Eyes. A better Christian would a miracle Be thought. From most he bore away the Bell. Oakes an Uncomfortable Preacher was, I must confess. Hee made us cry, Alass! A Benedict and Boniface to boot, Hee is a Christian Nestor: Oh, that wee Blast him. It was, I'me sure, the genʼral Faith, Or two receive from Anabaptists, who Never lov'd any Man that wrote a Line Their naught, Church-rending Cause to undermine. Is all run out, I must conclude (I think) 40 With a Dicebam, not a Dixi. Yea, Such a course will exceeding proper bee: The Jews, whene're they build an House, do leave Some part Imperfect, as a call to grieve For their destroy'd Jerus'lem; I'le do so! 45 I do 't! Be silent now, all People, young and old, How Christ's pure Light most glorious doth appear. And let your Priests for shame deceive no more, For Christ doth sure destroy great Babel's Whore, 5 ΙΟ 15 Who truly will reward equal and right, Dare you revenge your selves upon a man That fears the Lord and not bow to you can? 20 Will you your cruelty on them fulfil? And for meeting together in Christ's Name Dare you make havock of them for the same? Let fury cease, for God's just wrath proceeds, 25 That upright men may not work in their ground, 30 |