University of Virginia Library

To the Blessed MEMORY of the Venerable Mr. JOHN ELIOT,

TEACHER to the Church of CHRIST in Roxbury, and a PROPAGATOR of the Gospel to the Indians in N-England. Who rested from his Labours, May, 20. Anno Dom. 1690. Aetatis Suae. 86.

SHall ELIOT slip away? & not his Sons
Spy & Regret it, with Athletick Groans?
None Cry Alarm, when Horse & Chariots taken?
None Feel, when Israel's weal's Foundation's shaken?
Lately, a stately Stone pluckt out; none 'spy it?
Nor run to stop the woful Breach made by it?
Where's sweet Tongue'd David, sad Song'd Jeremiah,
Jon'than to 'wail, to Elegize Josiah?
Where's matchless Moses's Muse? Had I his Staff,
I'd find one Grave, and 'Grave one Epitaph.
English and Indian Work, he did so well,
Define we cannot, which did which excell.
Pagans, This Paul converts; Peter doth use
His Talents chiefly to confirm the Jews.
Paul to Barbarians, own's Himself a Debtor;
Our John, a brave Divine, T' Himself, no better
Dares supererrogate, in the vast Cost
And Pains, expended to Reduce the lost.
A brave Divine, said I? I had not mist,
Sure, had I Stil'd Him an Evangelist.
To Trace their Pagan Genealogies
Was not his Task, yet would his curious Eyes
Maugre oblivions Dust, 'venture to scan
At least by guess, These hideous Wrecks of Man:
And thought, he trackt, to Palestina's Strand:
How e're; He was resolv'd, to th' Holy Land
Them to reduce; (might Heav'n a Moses make him)
Nor did their barb'rous Heathenism shake him.
Th' Eternal Mind in Mortal Airs, nev'r blew
Unformed Blast; His Sov'reign Shalms yet flew
On Syriac Wings; His Gentleness equips
His Sacred Chariot with Chaldean Chips:
Three Other, His own Mother-Tongue beside,
Upon His Pascal Cross, He Sanctify'd.
His Tharsian-bred Apostle don't refuse
To sharp his Tools with Philistines, to use
Greek Poets, cited to the Sacred Bar,
T' wait on Effata's more Oracular.
Like Hercules toils ELIOT, lest that He
Should to Barbarians, a Barbarian be.
Since Babel's Trait'rous Tower was Thundersmit,
By Heav'ns Inraged Ire, & fell, & split
One Tongue into a Thousand Shivers, none
Can tell the Wounds, which this one Wo alone,
Hath more than scarr'd the World with; next th' Expulsion
At first from Paradise, & th' next Convulsion
In Grandsire Japheth's Time, no Storm before,
The Universal World e're delug'd more:
But now, thro' matchless Grace, to Eliot's given
The Key t' expel what lockt men out of Heaven.
His Tongue sails right, with Indian Tempest tost;
Puts in for Peter's Plea, at Pentecost.
The Ambassadour unto Them dares preferr
Offers of CHRIST, without Interpreter.
Th' Incarnate Furys, straitway from the Pit
Of Darkness worse than Egypts, Rise, & Spit
On all their Daemons, whilst their Breast & Brow
They to the LORD, & to His Baptist vow.
One Testament Seventy Interpreters
Translate to Greek, Antiquity avers;
Both Testaments, yet ELIOT alone
Converts into the Indian Tongue & Tone;
Abel, tho' dead, yet speaks, in one Tongue more;
Isay's, Apollo's Eloquence, before,
Ne're Rode in such a Chariot: Luke Physician,
('Tho' skill'd in Pulse,) would scarce tell the Condition
Of His own Gospel: Paul, with his much Learning
Would here be Posed:—
For 'though to many Regions He did pass,
Yet no West-Indian Antiquary was.
Sir Thomas Eliot was Great Brittains Glory:
Our Saint shall have a Chronicle in Ages Story:
Great XAVIER brings the Crucifix & Libel,
To Indian Souls, of Masses; Ours, the Bible.
Sanctius, for this, owns Him a Tutelary:
Calls on him & him joyns with GOD & MARY:
Eliot before such cursed Adoration,
Would chuse much rather, an Annihilation.
Yet made His Works before mens Eyes to shine,
That they might Glorifie the Name Divine.
The Indian-Work lay greatly on his Heart;
Until the Last, when He and That must part.
They parted not without most solemn Blessing,
While Clouds thereon were to his Soul-Distressing.
He dyes; His Work, when Time Dyes shall survive;
'Tho' Dead, yet speaks, that th' Indian Work may Live,
And to 's Successors doth good Counsel give:
‘Address (I pray) our Senate for good Orders,
‘To Civilize the Heathen in our Borders.
‘Vertue must turn into Necessity;
‘Or this brave Work, will in its Urn still lye.
‘'Till Agriculture, and Cohabitation,
‘Come under full Constraint and Regulation,
‘Much you would do, you'l find Impracticable,
‘And much you do will prove Unprofitable.
‘In common Lands that lie unfenc'd you know
‘The Husbandman, in vain doth plow & sow:
‘We hope in vain, the Plant of Grace shall thrive
‘In Forrests, where Civility can't Live.
‘In English Towns, when they their Months do spend,
‘Make Them, Gods Worship with us, to attend.
‘Whilst I us'd (as you must) sharp Discipline,
‘The saving Gains were Theirs, the Pains were mine.
‘Their Tender Sons to Sacred Learnings Throne
‘None can advance, but such Divines alone,
‘As are most Expert in their Dialect,
‘If Teaching in their own Tongue we respect:
‘Such Youths, (if GOD vouchsafe to Sanctify
‘Their studious minds) the sacred Oars may Ply,
‘Each Sabbath too, through Starry Arches bring,
‘Their Common Homage to our Mighty King.
‘Look well to the Uprising Nursery:
‘You know full well, none more for Schools than I.
‘To drown their Woes, some drown their Wits, and All
‘Their Common Grace: Correct that Fault you shall.
‘If you be Instant, only out of Season,
‘Your Hope soars out of sight of all my Reason,
‘If you expect, (while Lords Days hold their Station)
‘To Lecture them, on Week-Days, to Salvation.
‘Is it impossible to make a Purse,
‘T' Invite a Lecturer, in Turns, to Nurse
‘Your English Flocks, That those may have good Dressing
‘That have most need, upon the Day of Blessing?
‘Their Indian Teachers are but Weak; I Wiss;
‘Their Preaching, by their Hearers, slighted is:
‘Take then this Way, to readvance the Standard
‘Of Holiness, by late backslidings Slander'd.
‘Let fire-hot Zeal, boile in your thirsty Veins,
‘To save poor Caitiffs from Eternal Pains.
‘Our Antient Heroes, with their English Prayers
‘Did edify Their Souls; yet then, such Ayres
‘Were Unintelligible, more by far,
‘Than now adays, (since long Converse) they are.
‘Call many English Suppliants: Let them Kneel,
‘With Them & for Them; for their saving Weale,
‘Joyn hand in hand: Help up the Weak, Heav'ns Stairs:
‘Salvation, serves in pay of Joyned Prayers.
‘The Friends of Christ, & Souls, Let none be mute
‘In any Tongue, that can GODS Throne salute:
‘FAST with and for Them also twice a Year,
‘'Twill shew, and bring their Resurrection near.
‘May GOD in Heav'n, & may poor Heathens see
‘That much affected, & concern'd All be:
‘Christs Intercessions may they have redound,
‘Echo'd from hence, 'Twill to their Weal rebound
‘(Grand Usurer) I, nev'r gave Heav'n a Mite
‘But gain'd, & gather'd, Thousand Millions by 't.
‘Never Regret (Brave Hearts!) your vast Expence
‘Of Time & Pains: Mark well the Difference
‘'Twixt Indian Traders & their Teachers made;
‘What Blessings These, what Blastings Those Invade
‘Those often are annoy'd with mischiefs, whiles
‘These doe enjoy most sweet Cœlestial smiles.
His Counsels, we have done with; And return,
To close the Ashes of his Sacred Urn.
When Pious Grandson lately came to visit
This Saint, then at Heav'n's Gate, And said, How is it?
Such was his sense, he sagely made reply,
I am Afraid: But not afraid to Dy:
Sir! Thankfull Joy, My Motto is, (Quoth He)
Unto Another; And I Joy to see
What Lights Christ sets in's Churches, & that still
GOD hath His Folk, that doe His Temples fill.
How solemnly He Blest 'em, some can tell;
Like Paul; Begging, mean while; their Pray'rs as well:
And may they Blessed be! May they inherit,
A Double Portion of Elijah's Spirit.
On Golden Letters of His Name I mused;
JOHN, distill'd HONY; ELIOT, TOILE produced:
Pains bring in gains; for sweets, he sweats: thus frau't
With richest Lading, To His Port, He's brought.
This Vessel yet of Honour, had not been
So soon seen under Saile, Had not our Sin
Deserved & Provoked such a sign
Of Woe descending from the Wrath Divine.
This blurs the Trophys of our New Elections,
With Interlinements of sad Interjections.
Indians! Your Hearts are Marble, if Distress
Seize you not, for Unprofitableness.
Fear you not Wrath poor Souls! will you not grieve
Th' Ambassador of Peace has tak'n his Leave.
He Lov'd your Nation dearly; did He not?
(Adding your Language to the Polyglott;)
In ways unparellell'd, his strange Compassion
Drew Soul & Substance out, for your Salvation.
Heav'ns Fiery Balls, Flames, Smoke & Thundring Shot
And Bloody Drops, (late Prodigies) are not
More signal than this Death, at such a season,
Such was Methuselah's: and we have Reason,
May we have Grace, t' repent the Provocation
With speed, that crys aloud for Desolation.
Yet Muse! Don't overgroan: thy Fathers Glee
In 's reimbraced Colleague should with Thee,
Advance new Sonnets to His Jubilee
Indulcify'd, sweet ELIOT by Thee.