University of Virginia Library

ON THE DEATH OF DR. MIDDLETON, DECEMBER 16, 1760.

PART I.

Glory to the Redeemer give,
The glory of a soul brought home;
Our friend, for whom we joy and grieve,
Is to the' eternal garner come.
Like a ripe shock of corn laid up,
In season due, for God mature,
He kept the faith, held fast his hope,
And made his crown through sufferings sure.

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Let infidels and heathen mourn,
Hopeless to see their dead restored;
We feel him from our bosom torn,
But calmly say, “It is the Lord!”
In pity of His creature's pain,
Whom God had to the' afflicted given,
He justly claims His own again,
And takes to his reward in heaven.

Let us the shining path pursue,
And, following him, to God ascend,
His bright example keep in view,
His useful life and blessed end.
He lived a life of faith unfeign'd,
His rigid virtue unsubdued,
His strict integrity maintain'd,
And boldly own'd—he fear'd a God.

O when shall we his equal find,
To all so just, to all so dear!
The pious son, the husband kind,
The father good, the friend sincere!
Not David loved his friend so well,
Loath from his Jonathan to part,
Or served him with so warm a zeal,
Or held him in so fond a heart.

Yet in no narrow bounds confined,
His undisguised affection flow'd:
His heart, enlarged to all mankind,
Render'd to all the love he owed:
But chiefly those who loved his Lord,
Who most of Jesu's mind express'd,
Won by their lives without the word,
He cherish'd in his generous breast.

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Cover'd with honourable shame,
He mark'd the poor afflicted few,
The faithful followers of the Lamb,
In life and death to Jesus true:
Rejected and despised of men,
He heard the saints departing sing;
He saw them smile in mortal pain,
And trample on the grisly king.

While weeping there the sinner lay,
Asunder sawn by hopes and fears,
He cast, as filthy rags, away,
The righteousness of seventy years:
Loathsome, and foul, and self-abhorr'd,
Full of all sin, void of all good,
His soul at the last gasp implored
One drop of that atoning blood.

Nor yet the peaceful answer came;
His spirit, to the utmost tried,
Must suffer all his guilty shame,
Condemn'd, and scourged, and crucified;
Must all his Saviour's sorrows share,
And cry, as bleeding on the tree,
As in the depths of self-despair,
“My God hath quite forsaken me!”

“Not so,” replied the Father's love,
And Jesus in his heart reveal'd;
He felt the comfort from above,
The gospel grace, the pardon seal'd:
How strange that instantaneous bliss,
While to the brink of Tophet driven,
Caught up, as from the dark abyss,
He mounted to the highest heaven!

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PART II.

“He's come, He's come, in peace and power,
The agony,” he cries, “is past!
Call'd at my life's eleventh hour,
But call'd I surely am, at last:
I now in Christ redemption have,
I feel it through the sprinkled blood,
And testify His power to save,
And claim Him for my Lord, my God!

“My God to me His grace hath given,
Hath with the sense of pardon bless'd;
I taste anticipated heaven,
And happy in His favour rest.
No evil now but pride I fear,
For God in Christ is reconciled:
My heart is fix'd, I find Him here,
The witness that I am His child.

“What is redemption unpossess'd?
Poor reasoning soul, to Jesus bow;
Thy pardon seek, like me, distress'd,
And find it, a mere sinner, now!
Ah, who the blessing will embrace,
The tidings of great joy believe?
Or, urged, accept the proffer'd grace
As freely as my Lord would give?

“To-day, while it is call'd to-day,
Ye all my happiness may prove:
Discharged when I had nought to pay,
I go to thank my Lord above:

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Through the dark vale of death I go,
Whom Jesus to Himself doth bring,
And triumph o'er my vanquish'd foe,
A feeble foe without a sting.”

'Twas thus the dying Christian spoke,
Conqueror of death, and hell, and sin,
While every accent, every look,
Confess'd the heavenly change within.
How patient now, and meek, and mild,
That spirit which man could never tame;
As loving as a little child,
As gentle as a harmless lamb!

That all might Jesu's witness hear,
Might own his Lord in him reveal'd,
His reason, as his conscience, clear,
Its office to the last fulfill'd:
“But what are nature's gifts,” he cried,
“If Jesus was not pleased to' impart,
To a poor sinner justified,
The comfort of a praying heart?”

Yet, ready to depart in peace,
He must a further test sustain,
The last good fight of great distress,
And suffer more with Christ to reign.
Roused by his spirit's new-born cry,
Satan and all his hosts assail:
In vain to shake his faith they try;
The Rock 'tis built on cannot fail.

Mercy prolong'd his dying hours,
That, wrestling with the hellish foe,
With principalities and powers,
He might his utmost Saviour know;

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Might act his faith in Jesu's blood,
Hold fast his adamantine shield,
And see the' accusing fiend subdued,
With all his fiery darts repell'd.

The tempter ask'd and urged in vain,
“Hath God indeed thy sins forgiven?”
“He hath! He hath! in mortal pain
I cleave to Christ, my life, my heaven!
Jesus, Thou seest my sprinkled heart;
My faith in power almighty stands;
Thou wilt not let the' accuser part,
Or pluck my soul out of Thy hands.

“The purchase of Thy death I am;
On this, my only hope, depend;
Look on Thy hands, and read my name,
And keep me faithful to the end.
I do, I do believe in Thee,
Thou know'st the grace by Thee bestow'd;
I plunge me in the purple sea,
I bathe me in my Saviour's blood.

“I will, I will on Jesus trust,
I cannot doubt His changeless love;
The fiend hath made his parting thrust,
But could not from my Rock remove.
My Saviour would not quit His own,
And, lo, in death I hold Him fast;
Having my latest foe o'erthrown,
I stand,—and all is well at last.”

One only task is yet behind,
To bless us with his parting breath,
With love unutterably kind,
With love surviving time and death:

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Ready to quit the house of clay,
He leans on a beloved breast,
And sinks in friendship's arms away,
And finds his everlasting rest.