 | Poems on several grave and important subjects (1719) |  |
An EPISTLE
To Mr. John Callender.
To thee, dear Youth, Co-partner of my Pain,
How shall I write, and in what doleful Strain?
Too well the Cause of my afflicting Woe,
Too well the Pangs of Friendship lost, you know:
As if our Souls in one were closely join'd,
We mourn at once a Brother and a Friend.
Your Grief is great, proportion'd to our Loss;
(A Friend departed is a mighty Cross.)
But when the Ties of Birth and Friendship break,
How vast the Sorrow which our Souls partake!
This double Woe affects my wretched Heart,
And only I can tell, how much I smart.
The Debt I to a Brother owe is great;
But can I mourn at too intense a Rate
For a dear Friend's severe untimely Fate?
My Soul lies hid in Shades of gloomy Grief,
And sickens more at Thoughts of kind Relief:
With half-shut Eyes, just so, the Bird of Night
Peeps from its Nest, and hates the chearful Light.
How shall I write, and in what doleful Strain?
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Too well the Pangs of Friendship lost, you know:
As if our Souls in one were closely join'd,
We mourn at once a Brother and a Friend.
Your Grief is great, proportion'd to our Loss;
(A Friend departed is a mighty Cross.)
But when the Ties of Birth and Friendship break,
How vast the Sorrow which our Souls partake!
This double Woe affects my wretched Heart,
And only I can tell, how much I smart.
The Debt I to a Brother owe is great;
But can I mourn at too intense a Rate
For a dear Friend's severe untimely Fate?
My Soul lies hid in Shades of gloomy Grief,
And sickens more at Thoughts of kind Relief:
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Peeps from its Nest, and hates the chearful Light.
To thee I would unbosom my Distress;
The Smoke when vented usually grows less.
Like sudden Fire true Sorrow, when conceal'd,
Consumes us up, and quenches when reveal'd.
Oh that I could but weep away my Pain,
And melt my Load in Show'rs of briny Rain!
The inward Heat of Sorrow burns me so,
That Tears are dry'd, and therefore cannot flow.
My Suff'rings are unmeasurably great,
And Sobs and Murmurs only tell my State.
Affliction grows a Native of my Breast;
It can't dislodge, when 'tis so well possess'd.
There it must dwell until the Prop of all
Forsake the Building, which of Course must fall.
The Smoke when vented usually grows less.
Like sudden Fire true Sorrow, when conceal'd,
Consumes us up, and quenches when reveal'd.
Oh that I could but weep away my Pain,
And melt my Load in Show'rs of briny Rain!
The inward Heat of Sorrow burns me so,
That Tears are dry'd, and therefore cannot flow.
My Suff'rings are unmeasurably great,
And Sobs and Murmurs only tell my State.
Affliction grows a Native of my Breast;
It can't dislodge, when 'tis so well possess'd.
There it must dwell until the Prop of all
Forsake the Building, which of Course must fall.
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Ye that ne'er had a Friend, like mine, forbear
To blame my Sorrows and consuming Care.
Ye, like the Stoicks, can be dully brave,
And talk according to the Sense ye have;
But know, mistaken Mortals, that divine
Is the true Spring of this Distress of mine.
Reason, that noble Pow'r, is spent in vain,
To cure my Suff'ring, or asswage my Pain.
'Till I again enjoy my better Part,
Nothing can ease my poor divided Heart.
To blame my Sorrows and consuming Care.
Ye, like the Stoicks, can be dully brave,
And talk according to the Sense ye have;
But know, mistaken Mortals, that divine
Is the true Spring of this Distress of mine.
Reason, that noble Pow'r, is spent in vain,
To cure my Suff'ring, or asswage my Pain.
'Till I again enjoy my better Part,
Nothing can ease my poor divided Heart.
Friendship, thou gen'rous Charmer of the Mind;
Thou heav'nly Flame, and Love from Lust refin'd:
Nobler than Kindred, or than Marriage-Band,
By which the happy Angels seem to stand:
By thee our Souls in Sympathy were ty'd,
And ev'n in Nature closely were ally'd.
Like Poets, born to what we were, we grew;
But, ah! by Death we are disjointed now,
Tho' sooner shall the Lamb and Wolf agree,
Than you forgotten and extinguish'd be.
My Flame immortal, as my Soul, shall prove,
Nor new Acquaintance shall abate my Love.
What's once upon a virtuous Basis sure,
For ever will, in spite of Fate, endure.
All ye that know our mutual Love may guess,
How great 's my present Torture and Distress.
Our Joys were one, as mutual was our Care,
Bound by one Faith we both with Pleasure were.
One Reason govern'd both our yielding Wills;
Like Goods we lov'd, and hated the like Ills.
Friendship in this degen'rate Age is made
A Bait for Sin, or else at best a Trade.
But Honesty was the essential Ground
On which we built, by which our Souls were bound.
More pure, perhaps, but scarce more great, will prove,
The Friendship which shall joyn our Souls Above.
Thou heav'nly Flame, and Love from Lust refin'd:
Nobler than Kindred, or than Marriage-Band,
By which the happy Angels seem to stand:
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And ev'n in Nature closely were ally'd.
Like Poets, born to what we were, we grew;
But, ah! by Death we are disjointed now,
Tho' sooner shall the Lamb and Wolf agree,
Than you forgotten and extinguish'd be.
My Flame immortal, as my Soul, shall prove,
Nor new Acquaintance shall abate my Love.
What's once upon a virtuous Basis sure,
For ever will, in spite of Fate, endure.
All ye that know our mutual Love may guess,
How great 's my present Torture and Distress.
Our Joys were one, as mutual was our Care,
Bound by one Faith we both with Pleasure were.
One Reason govern'd both our yielding Wills;
Like Goods we lov'd, and hated the like Ills.
Friendship in this degen'rate Age is made
A Bait for Sin, or else at best a Trade.
44
On which we built, by which our Souls were bound.
More pure, perhaps, but scarce more great, will prove,
The Friendship which shall joyn our Souls Above.
Can I forget thee, my departed Friend?
Shall virtuous Love e'er know a wretched End?
No: Thy dear Image, tho' with mighty Pain,
Shall fill my Mind while I on Earth remain.
All Days to me roll undistinguish'd now,
And but prolong one hated Line of Woe:
But thou art happy in the silent Urn,
While we our Loss, and thy Departure mourn.
No Hopes or Fears invade thy naked Breast:
This thou hast gain'd by Death, to be at Rest.
The Grave's the Bed where weary Nature lies,
Throws off her Load of Care and Miseries:
From outward Sorrows gets a wish'd Release,
And sinks in Slumbers of eternal Peace.
What once we priz'd is now a Nothing made,
Poor useless Dust, with Worms in Silence laid:
Blended it lies with more ignoble Clay,
And hid from us, as from the shining Day.
Untimely Death! thou seiz'd the Young and Brave;
What bloom'd of late, now withers in the Grave;
Never, Oh! never more to see the Sun;
Still dark in a damp Vault, and still alone.
Shall virtuous Love e'er know a wretched End?
No: Thy dear Image, tho' with mighty Pain,
Shall fill my Mind while I on Earth remain.
All Days to me roll undistinguish'd now,
And but prolong one hated Line of Woe:
But thou art happy in the silent Urn,
While we our Loss, and thy Departure mourn.
No Hopes or Fears invade thy naked Breast:
This thou hast gain'd by Death, to be at Rest.
45
Throws off her Load of Care and Miseries:
From outward Sorrows gets a wish'd Release,
And sinks in Slumbers of eternal Peace.
What once we priz'd is now a Nothing made,
Poor useless Dust, with Worms in Silence laid:
Blended it lies with more ignoble Clay,
And hid from us, as from the shining Day.
Untimely Death! thou seiz'd the Young and Brave;
What bloom'd of late, now withers in the Grave;
Never, Oh! never more to see the Sun;
Still dark in a damp Vault, and still alone.
Yet why make we a Mystery of Death?
It is no more than to resign the Breath:
A calm, eternal Sleep in silent Night,
Exempt from Dreams, as from the shining Light.
'Tis but a poor imaginary Line,
Which earthly Being does at last confine;
Or like a Gale, that wafts us gently o'er
To other Scenes, on an immortal Shore:
The Ties of Nature only it unbinds,
And has no Horrors but for guilty Minds.
When on the Margin of the Grave they stand,
And view deserved Punishments at hand;
While Conscience inly chides them for their Faults,
And brings past Actions to their mournful Thoughts;
Then Death looks dreadful, and to change their Fate
They would repent, but find it would be late.
Distracting Doubts and Terrors fill their Breast;
In vain they labour languishing for Rest:
Each Step of Death affords new Agonies,
And opens Scenes of Vengeance to their Eyes.
But upright Souls with Pleasure yield their Breath,
And gladly welcome the Approach of Death:
No painful Sting or dismal Gloom he wears,
But all serene and lovely he appears.
Dark Clouds sometimes may interpose a while,
And all their Thoughts with Fear and Sorrow fill:
But sudden Gleams of Glory pierce the Night,
And chear the Mind with Views of endless Light:
It is no more than to resign the Breath:
A calm, eternal Sleep in silent Night,
Exempt from Dreams, as from the shining Light.
46
Which earthly Being does at last confine;
Or like a Gale, that wafts us gently o'er
To other Scenes, on an immortal Shore:
The Ties of Nature only it unbinds,
And has no Horrors but for guilty Minds.
When on the Margin of the Grave they stand,
And view deserved Punishments at hand;
While Conscience inly chides them for their Faults,
And brings past Actions to their mournful Thoughts;
Then Death looks dreadful, and to change their Fate
They would repent, but find it would be late.
Distracting Doubts and Terrors fill their Breast;
In vain they labour languishing for Rest:
Each Step of Death affords new Agonies,
And opens Scenes of Vengeance to their Eyes.
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And gladly welcome the Approach of Death:
No painful Sting or dismal Gloom he wears,
But all serene and lovely he appears.
Dark Clouds sometimes may interpose a while,
And all their Thoughts with Fear and Sorrow fill:
But sudden Gleams of Glory pierce the Night,
And chear the Mind with Views of endless Light:
Oh grant, ye Pow'rs, that I may bravely meet,
Like my dead Brother, my approaching Fate!
For ne'er a Soul with greater Patience bore
Such piercing Pains and Agonies before;
None more unmov'd at sight of Death appear'd;
He saw no present Sting, nor future Torment fear'd.
Arm'd with his Innocence resolv'd he lay,
Bade Friends, Farewel, and sweetly soar'd away,
Amidst a heav'nly Guard to Realms of purest Day.
With him, my Heart, dear Callender, is fled,
And to this World, and all its Joys, is dead.
Of Life, once priz'd, at length I'm weary grown,
Since all my Pleasures here below are flown:
Oh haste dull Time, and put a welcome End
To my wretch'd Days, as to my happy Friend.
There's nothing here worth living to be found;
What I behold is but enchanted Ground.
The sweetest Honey's mixt with nauseous Gall,
And 'tis a Cheat which Mortals happy call.
No more the charming Tree of Life I'll boast,
Since Paradise, in which it grew, is lost.
Like my dead Brother, my approaching Fate!
For ne'er a Soul with greater Patience bore
Such piercing Pains and Agonies before;
None more unmov'd at sight of Death appear'd;
He saw no present Sting, nor future Torment fear'd.
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Bade Friends, Farewel, and sweetly soar'd away,
Amidst a heav'nly Guard to Realms of purest Day.
With him, my Heart, dear Callender, is fled,
And to this World, and all its Joys, is dead.
Of Life, once priz'd, at length I'm weary grown,
Since all my Pleasures here below are flown:
Oh haste dull Time, and put a welcome End
To my wretch'd Days, as to my happy Friend.
There's nothing here worth living to be found;
What I behold is but enchanted Ground.
The sweetest Honey's mixt with nauseous Gall,
And 'tis a Cheat which Mortals happy call.
No more the charming Tree of Life I'll boast,
Since Paradise, in which it grew, is lost.
49
Of earthly Joys how soon are we depriv'd?
Our choicest Pleasure is at best short-liv'd.
The greatest Blessing, when remov'd again,
Creates a double, Soul-tormenting Pain.
At best, Fruition is a flatt'ring Cheat;
It raises Hope, and can as soon defeat.
Just when we come t'enjoy the pleasing Prey,
Like a shy Ghost, it vanishes away.
Heav'n seems to mock our fond Simplicity
By shewing Pearls, and when we curious try
To snatch them up, they baulk our curious Eye.
Yet I could ne'er the Mystery conceive;
Nor ceas'd th' Impostor's Cunning to believe.
But now no more I'll trust delusive Bliss,
Nor value Pleasure, since I'm rob'd of this.
Our choicest Pleasure is at best short-liv'd.
The greatest Blessing, when remov'd again,
Creates a double, Soul-tormenting Pain.
At best, Fruition is a flatt'ring Cheat;
It raises Hope, and can as soon defeat.
Just when we come t'enjoy the pleasing Prey,
Like a shy Ghost, it vanishes away.
Heav'n seems to mock our fond Simplicity
By shewing Pearls, and when we curious try
To snatch them up, they baulk our curious Eye.
Yet I could ne'er the Mystery conceive;
Nor ceas'd th' Impostor's Cunning to believe.
But now no more I'll trust delusive Bliss,
Nor value Pleasure, since I'm rob'd of this.
50
Tho' Death hath stabb'd me in my tender Part,
By seizing John, the Darling of my Heart,
This Lesson he hath taught me by the Way,
Ne'er to make Heav'n of Pleasures that decay.
I'll never trust the Juggler's Art again,
But mind that Flesh is Grass, and all below is vain.
Then, O my Soul, with an uncommon Flight
Wing thou thy Way to Scenes of new Delight.
Thy better Half already is remov'd
To that bless'd Region by the Saints belov'd.
Does not his Death sound loudly in mine Ear,
That Happiness below is not sincere?
No Joys on Earth can court a longer Stay,
And Int'rest calls me to a purer Day.
Adieu to vain delusive Bliss below;
Adieu to Care, and vexing Sorrows now;
Adieu to every thing that can divert
My Soul resolv'd to seek its better Part.
Muse, lead the Way—For sure you cannot miss,
To find my Brother wheresoe'er he is.
Range the wide World of Spirits o'er and o'er,
The Way he went, and what 's his Work, explore.
Nought can escape thy curious watchful Eye,
Nor can so fair a Spirit undistinguish'd lye.
By seizing John, the Darling of my Heart,
This Lesson he hath taught me by the Way,
Ne'er to make Heav'n of Pleasures that decay.
I'll never trust the Juggler's Art again,
But mind that Flesh is Grass, and all below is vain.
Then, O my Soul, with an uncommon Flight
Wing thou thy Way to Scenes of new Delight.
Thy better Half already is remov'd
To that bless'd Region by the Saints belov'd.
Does not his Death sound loudly in mine Ear,
That Happiness below is not sincere?
No Joys on Earth can court a longer Stay,
And Int'rest calls me to a purer Day.
Adieu to vain delusive Bliss below;
Adieu to Care, and vexing Sorrows now;
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My Soul resolv'd to seek its better Part.
Muse, lead the Way—For sure you cannot miss,
To find my Brother wheresoe'er he is.
Range the wide World of Spirits o'er and o'er,
The Way he went, and what 's his Work, explore.
Nought can escape thy curious watchful Eye,
Nor can so fair a Spirit undistinguish'd lye.
'Tis he—Full well I know the Kindred-Mind,
The purer Part of my departed Friend:
Array'd in Robes of heav'nly Light and State,
How near he stands to the Almighty's Seat!
Eternal Transports of consummate Joy,
Of Love, and Wonder are his dear Employ.
Around him Choirs of Saints and Angels sing,
He crowns the Consort with his golden String,
And glads all Heav'n with Praises to its King.
The purer Part of my departed Friend:
Array'd in Robes of heav'nly Light and State,
How near he stands to the Almighty's Seat!
Eternal Transports of consummate Joy,
Of Love, and Wonder are his dear Employ.
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He crowns the Consort with his golden String,
And glads all Heav'n with Praises to its King.
Sweet Contemplation! Let me always dwell
On such a Theme, and Heav'ns rich Glories tell.
When shall I view these intellectual Scenes,
Loos'd from the Flesh that me on Earth detains?
How long shall Saints around us take their Flight,
Unbody'd to eternal Realms of Light?
Dear Calender! You long, as well as I,
To look below you on this Earth and Sky.
Your Spirit chides low Nature's lazy Wheels,
And longs to mount the everlasting Hills;
To climb with Pleasure the celestial Road
That leads to John, your Saviour, and your God.
'Tis but a while we must of Sorrows taste,
To make us value more a heav'nly Feast.
'Ere long we shall transcend the vaulted Sky,
And, like free'd Larks, sing Joyful as we fly.
On such a Theme, and Heav'ns rich Glories tell.
When shall I view these intellectual Scenes,
Loos'd from the Flesh that me on Earth detains?
How long shall Saints around us take their Flight,
Unbody'd to eternal Realms of Light?
Dear Calender! You long, as well as I,
To look below you on this Earth and Sky.
Your Spirit chides low Nature's lazy Wheels,
And longs to mount the everlasting Hills;
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That leads to John, your Saviour, and your God.
'Tis but a while we must of Sorrows taste,
To make us value more a heav'nly Feast.
'Ere long we shall transcend the vaulted Sky,
And, like free'd Larks, sing Joyful as we fly.
| Poems on several grave and important subjects (1719) | |