[Poems by Danforth in] Proceedings of the American Antiquarian Society April 17, 1968 - October 16, 1968 : Volume 78 |
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A Pindarick ELEGY Upon the Renowned, MR. SAMUEL WILLARD,
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 | [Poems by Danforth in] Proceedings of the American Antiquarian Society |  |
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A Pindarick ELEGY Upon the Renowned, MR. SAMUEL WILLARD,
Late Reverend Teacher of the South Church in Boston, and Vice-President of Harvard College in Cambridge; Who Deceased September the 12th. 1707. Aetatis Anno 68.
ENdited by an Heart with Grief repleat,
My Verse doth Homage at his Mourners Feet:
Is a Just Mourner too: It's Grief is Loud:
Louder the Cause: Invading ills so crowd.
In trembling Airs, its feather'd Arrow flys;
But not so High, nor half so Swift, as doe our Destinys.
It spies, big with Portentousness and Dread,
Amazing Signs advance their Lofty Head:
Views, how fierce Lightnings doe our Steeples strike
And Temples Batter,
And their most Sacred Riches Scatter.
Victims, and Priests in flames ascend alike,
Most wondrously; such horrid Carnage make
Heav'ns fiery Bombs, when they so fall & break.
My Verse doth Homage at his Mourners Feet:
Is a Just Mourner too: It's Grief is Loud:
Louder the Cause: Invading ills so crowd.
In trembling Airs, its feather'd Arrow flys;
But not so High, nor half so Swift, as doe our Destinys.
It spies, big with Portentousness and Dread,
Amazing Signs advance their Lofty Head:
Views, how fierce Lightnings doe our Steeples strike
And Temples Batter,
And their most Sacred Riches Scatter.
Victims, and Priests in flames ascend alike,
Most wondrously; such horrid Carnage make
Heav'ns fiery Bombs, when they so fall & break.
It views our choicest Treasures made a Prey;
Death Triumphs them away:
But so much for to lose, altho' no more,
Would Beggar Nations, make Rich Empires Poor,
The High & Mighty States a Begging send,
Or Borrowing at least; But where are they can lend?
It sees, (and Sighs,) Hereby we were Undone,
Hereby Alone;
So much choice Gold is Buried in this Grave;
But that it sees our Mines no Bottom have;
Mines that for Proselyted Rebels, lie
Within the Treasury
Of Grace Ador'd,
Of our Dear Saviour and Ascended Lord.
'Twill yet, to Gain so much, take a long Day,
For choicest Pioneers to dig, and Pray;
And Get again what we have forfeited away.
In Crimson Flood, wade Thousands to his Tomb,
Swell'd Big with Heroe's Blood, like Trojane Womb:
Troy were forgot,
But for our Parallel Lott;
Ah! Woful Day! One Conquering Horse of Fate
Severe & Just, Enter'd our Opened Gate;
Nay 'Twas a Troop,
Enough to Seize, and swallow up
Long horded Stores that made Us Rich, & Proud,
That many Scores of Plenteous years had bounteously bestow'd.
Such Losing Bankrupts We; 'Twould break Heaven too
But that it's Wealth is Infinite, to Set us up Anew.
Death Triumphs them away:
But so much for to lose, altho' no more,
Would Beggar Nations, make Rich Empires Poor,
The High & Mighty States a Begging send,
Or Borrowing at least; But where are they can lend?
It sees, (and Sighs,) Hereby we were Undone,
Hereby Alone;
So much choice Gold is Buried in this Grave;
But that it sees our Mines no Bottom have;
Mines that for Proselyted Rebels, lie
Within the Treasury
Of Grace Ador'd,
Of our Dear Saviour and Ascended Lord.
'Twill yet, to Gain so much, take a long Day,
For choicest Pioneers to dig, and Pray;
And Get again what we have forfeited away.
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Swell'd Big with Heroe's Blood, like Trojane Womb:
Troy were forgot,
But for our Parallel Lott;
Ah! Woful Day! One Conquering Horse of Fate
Severe & Just, Enter'd our Opened Gate;
Nay 'Twas a Troop,
Enough to Seize, and swallow up
Long horded Stores that made Us Rich, & Proud,
That many Scores of Plenteous years had bounteously bestow'd.
Such Losing Bankrupts We; 'Twould break Heaven too
But that it's Wealth is Infinite, to Set us up Anew.
Let all New-England, and let Boston know,
How much they do to CHRIST for Willard owe;
Christ's Precious Blood produc'd this Copious Good,
(In all Its worth) not fully understood.
Harvard! I'le call thy Head (for tis no Treason)
Master of Reason;
Master of all the Wisdom of the Sages,
That's handed down to later Ages:
Master of Tongues; Master of Policy's
So much Admir'd; And in Theology's
Doctrines & Truths, which most Mysterious Are,
His Learned Mind might safely take the Chair.
He Liv'd and Wrought in the Oraculous Flame,
'Till he an Oracle became;
Whereat when many did Enquire,
They had the mind of Christ, to their Desire
So strong in Christ his Pen, Thousands do know
And stoutest foes have found it so,
That when he pleas'd to Conquer, he was able,
Chastiz'd the Rash, and settled the Unstable.
How much they do to CHRIST for Willard owe;
Christ's Precious Blood produc'd this Copious Good,
(In all Its worth) not fully understood.
Harvard! I'le call thy Head (for tis no Treason)
Master of Reason;
Master of all the Wisdom of the Sages,
That's handed down to later Ages:
Master of Tongues; Master of Policy's
So much Admir'd; And in Theology's
Doctrines & Truths, which most Mysterious Are,
His Learned Mind might safely take the Chair.
He Liv'd and Wrought in the Oraculous Flame,
'Till he an Oracle became;
Whereat when many did Enquire,
They had the mind of Christ, to their Desire
So strong in Christ his Pen, Thousands do know
And stoutest foes have found it so,
That when he pleas'd to Conquer, he was able,
Chastiz'd the Rash, and settled the Unstable.
One of the King of Israel's Mightys he,
Of the First Three
Full of the Holy Ghost: (Wou'd so were we.)
His Virtue's Roll's so large, Th' Ocean's so Deep;
My Verse could do no more, but only creep
And Spy, and Speak a little on the Brink:
And thus much he must say who will speak least:
But of the Rest,
Bright Angels may, and such as They
with Just Amazement Think.
Of the First Three
Full of the Holy Ghost: (Wou'd so were we.)
His Virtue's Roll's so large, Th' Ocean's so Deep;
My Verse could do no more, but only creep
And Spy, and Speak a little on the Brink:
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But of the Rest,
Bright Angels may, and such as They
with Just Amazement Think.
JOHN DANFORTH
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