 | Collected poems of Samuel Davies : 1723-1761 |  |
XXVII. On bearing of the Rev. Mr. Samuel Blair's desperate Illness by common Fame, and Letters from Correspondents in Pennsylvania, June 9. 1751.
What melancholy News does distant Fame
To anxious Crowds and my shock'd Ears proclaim!
With what strange Panic is each Bosom struck,
As though some Pillar of the Heav'n's were broke!
Alas! is Blair, the great, unrival'd Blair,
Most dear to All, but oh! to me more dear;
My Father! Tutor! Friend! each tender Name
That can the softest, warmest Passions claim!
My faithful Guide to Science and to Truth,
In the raw Years of unexperienced Youth:
Ah! is the heav'nly Man just on the Wing,
And to his native Skies about to spring?
About to leave us mourning here below,
And 'mong us share the Remnant of his Woe.
Ah! does he pine away in hectic Fire,
Anhelant, panting, ready to expire?
Oh! cruel Fame! why didst thou haste thy Flight,
To bring the inauspicious News to Light?
Ah! cruel Correspondents! to reveal
The dismal Tidings Love would fain conceal.
Why did not Tears blot out th' Intelligence?
Or your sad Hands tremble to guide your Pens?
To anxious Crowds and my shock'd Ears proclaim!
With what strange Panic is each Bosom struck,
As though some Pillar of the Heav'n's were broke!
Alas! is Blair, the great, unrival'd Blair,
Most dear to All, but oh! to me more dear;
My Father! Tutor! Friend! each tender Name
That can the softest, warmest Passions claim!
My faithful Guide to Science and to Truth,
In the raw Years of unexperienced Youth:
Ah! is the heav'nly Man just on the Wing,
And to his native Skies about to spring?
About to leave us mourning here below,
And 'mong us share the Remnant of his Woe.
Ah! does he pine away in hectic Fire,
Anhelant, panting, ready to expire?
Oh! cruel Fame! why didst thou haste thy Flight,
To bring the inauspicious News to Light?
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The dismal Tidings Love would fain conceal.
Why did not Tears blot out th' Intelligence?
Or your sad Hands tremble to guide your Pens?
Oh! had you not the dismal! News divulg'd,
My Mind had still the pleasing Dream indulg'd;
Still feign'd my Blair with Health and Vigour blest,
With some grand Purpose labouring in his Breast;
In studious Thought pursuing Truth divine,
'Til the full Demonstration round him shine;
Or from the sacred Desk, proclaiming loud
His Master's Message to th' attentive Crowd;
While dubious Truth with bright Conviction glares,
And coward Error shrinks and disappears;
While Quick Remorse the hardy Sinner feels,
And Calvary's Balm the bleeding Conscience heals.
My Mind had still the pleasing Dream indulg'd;
Still feign'd my Blair with Health and Vigour blest,
With some grand Purpose labouring in his Breast;
In studious Thought pursuing Truth divine,
'Til the full Demonstration round him shine;
Or from the sacred Desk, proclaiming loud
His Master's Message to th' attentive Crowd;
While dubious Truth with bright Conviction glares,
And coward Error shrinks and disappears;
While Quick Remorse the hardy Sinner feels,
And Calvary's Balm the bleeding Conscience heals.
But now alas! the sweet Delusion's fled;
My Blair is dying, or perhaps is dead;
Or hast'ning to the calm celestial Shore,
Or safe arriv'd, and all the Dangers o'er.
Even now perhaps, releas'd from cumb'rous Clay,
His Soul expatiates in immortal Day;
Serenely basking in the Smiles of God,
With Fellow-Angels in their blest Abode.
My Blair is dying, or perhaps is dead;
Or hast'ning to the calm celestial Shore,
Or safe arriv'd, and all the Dangers o'er.
Even now perhaps, releas'd from cumb'rous Clay,
His Soul expatiates in immortal Day;
Serenely basking in the Smiles of God,
With Fellow-Angels in their blest Abode.
Pardon, Blest Shade! the Ravings of my Love,
That would recall thee from the Bliss above;
Would wish thee down in these sad Realms again,
From Choirs of Angels to converse with Men;
Ungrateful Men, who broke thy Heart, and long
Withstood the strong Persuasion of thy Tongue;
Baffled thy Love, and Vanity pursu'd,
Deaf to thy Calls, deaf to a Saviour's Blood!
That would recall thee from the Bliss above;
Would wish thee down in these sad Realms again,
From Choirs of Angels to converse with Men;
Ungrateful Men, who broke thy Heart, and long
Withstood the strong Persuasion of thy Tongue;
Baffled thy Love, and Vanity pursu'd,
Deaf to thy Calls, deaf to a Saviour's Blood!
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Oh! might'st thou from the Dead return again.
And that strange unknown World disclose to Men!
Apostles from the Dead sure could not preach in vain.
Superfluous Wish! What could'st thou teach us more,
Than thy divine Discourses did before?
And that strange unknown World disclose to Men!
Apostles from the Dead sure could not preach in vain.
Superfluous Wish! What could'st thou teach us more,
Than thy divine Discourses did before?
But if in mortal Climes be still thy Stay,
O! can our Pray'rs the fatal Hour delay?
Prevail with Heav'n to spare thy sacred Breath,
And snatch thee from th' impending Hand of Death?
O! can our Pray'rs the fatal Hour delay?
Prevail with Heav'n to spare thy sacred Breath,
And snatch thee from th' impending Hand of Death?
Come, Saints, your Importunities renew;
Try what th' united Force of fervent Pray'r can do.
Believing Pray'r, eternal Truth has sworn,
Sha'n't pant in vain, but bring a rich Return:
'Twill gain this Blessing from propitious Heav'n;
Or greater, if a greater can be giv'n.
Try what th' united Force of fervent Pray'r can do.
Believing Pray'r, eternal Truth has sworn,
Sha'n't pant in vain, but bring a rich Return:
'Twill gain this Blessing from propitious Heav'n;
Or greater, if a greater can be giv'n.
“Thou sovereign Arbiter of Life and Death,
“At whose almighty Nod we catch and yield out Breath;
“Whose fiat organiz'd our mortal Clay,
“And can repair it in its last Decay,
“And from the greedy Grave snatch the expected Prey:
“Oh! hear the bursting, deep, united Groan,
“That from ten thousand Hearts arises to Thy Throne;
“Restore our Prophet!—Best for him, 'tis true,
“To die; but oh! what shall poor Zion do?
“Zion whose Foes are many, Friends are few!
“See! how she languishes in plaintive Grief;
“By Blair's Recovery only hopes Relief.
“Where shall the wounded, tortur'd Conscience find
“A healing Hand so skilful and so kind?
“Where heav'nly Truth so firm an Advocate?
“Or dubious Minds so certain Conduct get?
“At whose almighty Nod we catch and yield out Breath;
“Whose fiat organiz'd our mortal Clay,
“And can repair it in its last Decay,
“And from the greedy Grave snatch the expected Prey:
“Oh! hear the bursting, deep, united Groan,
“That from ten thousand Hearts arises to Thy Throne;
“Restore our Prophet!—Best for him, 'tis true,
“To die; but oh! what shall poor Zion do?
“Zion whose Foes are many, Friends are few!
“See! how she languishes in plaintive Grief;
“By Blair's Recovery only hopes Relief.
“Where shall the wounded, tortur'd Conscience find
“A healing Hand so skilful and so kind?
“Where heav'nly Truth so firm an Advocate?
“Or dubious Minds so certain Conduct get?
“Restore our Prophet, and his Health renew;
“For oh! we need him more than Heav'n can do.
“There Myriads of Thy Ministers of Flame
“Perform Thy Orders and adore Thy Name.
“But here, alas! how few prepar'd like Blair
“Thy sacred Message to the World to bear?
“With equal Skill eternal Things to shew?
“And guide Thy Churches militant below!
“Restore our Prophet, Lord! and in his Stead
“Let worthless me be to the Skies convey'd.
“Thy earthly House such useless Lumber may
“Resign; but oh! snatch not our Blair away.”
“For oh! we need him more than Heav'n can do.
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“Perform Thy Orders and adore Thy Name.
“But here, alas! how few prepar'd like Blair
“Thy sacred Message to the World to bear?
“With equal Skill eternal Things to shew?
“And guide Thy Churches militant below!
“Restore our Prophet, Lord! and in his Stead
“Let worthless me be to the Skies convey'd.
“Thy earthly House such useless Lumber may
“Resign; but oh! snatch not our Blair away.”
But even his Worth now bids us to despair,
And threatens the Denial of our Pray'r;
His Worth that makes his sacred Life so dear.
So great, so heav'nly, so divine a Mind
Demands Employment of a nobler Kind.
What Earth could teach, he learn'd, and now must rise
To a superior Class above the Skies.
Too much refin'd, in this dark World to bear
The humble Place of Zion's Minister;
Heav'n calls him to sustain some nobler Function there:
With Gabriel to perform the Orders given,
And bear Jehovah's Errands thro' the Vast of Heav'n;
Prompt as th' angelic Armies to obey,
Fervent and bright and vigorous as they.
Heav'n kind to him, will not consent to hear,
Nor curse him with the Answer of our Pray'r.
And threatens the Denial of our Pray'r;
His Worth that makes his sacred Life so dear.
So great, so heav'nly, so divine a Mind
Demands Employment of a nobler Kind.
What Earth could teach, he learn'd, and now must rise
To a superior Class above the Skies.
Too much refin'd, in this dark World to bear
The humble Place of Zion's Minister;
Heav'n calls him to sustain some nobler Function there:
With Gabriel to perform the Orders given,
And bear Jehovah's Errands thro' the Vast of Heav'n;
Prompt as th' angelic Armies to obey,
Fervent and bright and vigorous as they.
Heav'n kind to him, will not consent to hear,
Nor curse him with the Answer of our Pray'r.
Oh! did my cruel Distance but allow,
I'd pay the last sad Offices I owe:
With tender Hand support thy fainting Head,
Wipe off thy mortal Sweat, and weep around thy Bed;
I'd view thee struggling in the Grasp of Death,
And share the Anguish of thy parting Breath;
Thy languishing Francisca's Grief allay,
As drown'd in Tears, she hovers o'er thy Clay;
Thy sacred Reliques to the Grave attend,
And cry, “There softly rest, my Father, Brother, Friend!”
But ah! these Eyes shall see my Blair no more,
'Till my poor Pilgrimage, like his, is o'er,
And we both meet on the eternal Shore.
I'd pay the last sad Offices I owe:
With tender Hand support thy fainting Head,
Wipe off thy mortal Sweat, and weep around thy Bed;
I'd view thee struggling in the Grasp of Death,
And share the Anguish of thy parting Breath;
Thy languishing Francisca's Grief allay,
As drown'd in Tears, she hovers o'er thy Clay;
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And cry, “There softly rest, my Father, Brother, Friend!”
But ah! these Eyes shall see my Blair no more,
'Till my poor Pilgrimage, like his, is o'er,
And we both meet on the eternal Shore.
Yet though this cruel Distance lies between,
Officious Fancy paints the dismal Scene;
Even now the mournful Images arise,
And various Shapes of Sorrow stalk before mine Eyes,
There lies my Blair, suffus'd with clammy Sweat,
Ghastly and pale; the Pulses cease to beat;
The Springs of Life relax; the purple Stream
Stagnates; his Eyes in misty Darkness swim;
A deadly Cold creeps on from every Part,
Benumbs his Limbs, and steals upon his Heart;
And see at length in a long deep-fetch'd Groan
The Soul's dismist, and flies to Worlds unknown.
Delug'd in Sorrow, there Francisca stands,
And twing'd with parting Anguish, wrings her Hands;
Like the poor widow'd Turtle, vents her Grief,
Her Tears indulges, and despairs Relief;
Surveys the World, but sees no Refuge there,
Her only Confidence in Heav'n and Pray'r.
Thy infant Train, whose little Tongues had scarce
Learn'd to pronounce thee Father, at thy Hearse,
Or round thy Bed, burst their full Hearts in Sighs,
While the big Tear sincere swells in their Eyes,
And their loud filial Griefs break out in piteous Cries.
Through thy once favour'd Flock the Sorrow spreads,
And desp'rate Grief a thousand Hearts invades:
Each fears lest 'twas his Guilt that did provoke
Incensed Heav'n to give the dreadful Stroke.
Now 'mong the Remnant of the sacred Train
They search for one to fill his Place in vain.
Compar'd with him, the most exalted Tongue,
But mangles Truth, and does the Subject Wrong.
From others heav'nly Truths insipid seem
To them whose Relish was refin'd by him.
Officious Fancy paints the dismal Scene;
Even now the mournful Images arise,
And various Shapes of Sorrow stalk before mine Eyes,
There lies my Blair, suffus'd with clammy Sweat,
Ghastly and pale; the Pulses cease to beat;
The Springs of Life relax; the purple Stream
Stagnates; his Eyes in misty Darkness swim;
A deadly Cold creeps on from every Part,
Benumbs his Limbs, and steals upon his Heart;
And see at length in a long deep-fetch'd Groan
The Soul's dismist, and flies to Worlds unknown.
Delug'd in Sorrow, there Francisca stands,
And twing'd with parting Anguish, wrings her Hands;
Like the poor widow'd Turtle, vents her Grief,
Her Tears indulges, and despairs Relief;
Surveys the World, but sees no Refuge there,
Her only Confidence in Heav'n and Pray'r.
Thy infant Train, whose little Tongues had scarce
Learn'd to pronounce thee Father, at thy Hearse,
Or round thy Bed, burst their full Hearts in Sighs,
While the big Tear sincere swells in their Eyes,
And their loud filial Griefs break out in piteous Cries.
Through thy once favour'd Flock the Sorrow spreads,
And desp'rate Grief a thousand Hearts invades:
Each fears lest 'twas his Guilt that did provoke
Incensed Heav'n to give the dreadful Stroke.
Now 'mong the Remnant of the sacred Train
They search for one to fill his Place in vain.
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But mangles Truth, and does the Subject Wrong.
From others heav'nly Truths insipid seem
To them whose Relish was refin'd by him.
Still farther spreads th' extensive Grief around
Each Bosom feels the Anguish of the Wound,
And bursting Groans from Breast to Breast rebound.
Zion her Loss through all her Temples wails,
And spreads the dismal Eccho round her Hills.
To this far Clime the mournful Sound shall roll,
And with fresh Anguish twinge my bleeding Soul.
His dear sad Mem'ry on my Heart shall rest,
While vital Breath inspires my heaving Breast;
Mix with my tender'st Thoughts, and often move
The doleful Anguish of bereaved Love,
'Till our Reunion heals the Wound Above.
Each Bosom feels the Anguish of the Wound,
And bursting Groans from Breast to Breast rebound.
Zion her Loss through all her Temples wails,
And spreads the dismal Eccho round her Hills.
To this far Clime the mournful Sound shall roll,
And with fresh Anguish twinge my bleeding Soul.
His dear sad Mem'ry on my Heart shall rest,
While vital Breath inspires my heaving Breast;
Mix with my tender'st Thoughts, and often move
The doleful Anguish of bereaved Love,
'Till our Reunion heals the Wound Above.
| Collected poems of Samuel Davies : 1723-1761 | |