University of Virginia Library

MOunt Fame, the glorious Chariot of the Sun;
Through the World's Cirque, all you, her Herald's, run:
And let this Great Saint's Merits be reveal'd,
Which, during Life, he studiously conceal'd.
Cite all the Levites, fetch the Sons of Art,
In these our Dolours to sustain a part.
Warn all that value Worth, and every one
Within their Eyes to bring an Helicon.
For in this single Person we have lost
More Riches, than an India has engrost.

When Wilson, that Plerophory of Love,
Did from our Banks, up to his Center move,
Rare Whiting quotes Columbus on this Coast,
Producing Gems, of which a King might boast.
More splendid far than ever Aaron wore,
Within his Breast, this Sacred Father bore.
Sound Doctrine Urim, in his Holy Cell,
And all Perfections Thummim there did dwell.
His Holy Vesture was his Innocence,
His Speech, Embroideries of curious Sence.
Such awful Gravity this Doctor us'd,
As if an Angel every Word infus'd.
No Turgent Stile, but Asiatic Store;
Conduits were almost full, seldom run o're
The Banks of Time: Come Visit when you will,
The Streams of Nectar were descending still:
Much like Septemfluous Nilus, rising so,
He watered Christians round, and made them grow.
His modest Whispers could the Conscience reach,
As well as Whirlwinds, which some others preach;
No Boanerges, yet could touch the Heart,
And clench his Doctrine by the meekest Art.
His Learning and his Language, might become
A Province not inferiour to Rome.
Glorious was Europe's Heaven, when such as these
Stars of his Size, shone in each Diocess.

Who writ'st the Fathers Lives, either make Room,
Or with his Name begin your Second Tome.
Ag'd Polycarp, Deep Origen, and such
Whose Worth your Quills; your Wits not them, enrich;
Lactantius, Cyprian, Basil too the Great,
Quaint Jerom, Austin of the foremost Seat,
With Ambrose, and more of the Highest Class,
In CHRIST's great School, with Honour, I let pass;
And humbly pay my Debt to Whiting's Ghost,
Of whom both Englands, may with Reason boast.
Nations for Men of Lesser Worth have strove,
To have the Fame, and, in Transports of Love,
Built Temples, or fix'd Statues of pure Gold,
And their vast Worth to After-Ages told.
His Modesty forbad so fair a Tomb,
Who in Ten Thousand Hearts obtain'd a Room.

What sweet Composures in his Angels Face!
What soft Affections, Melting Gleams of Grace!
How mildly pleasant! By his closed Lips,
Rhetoricks Bright Body suffers an Eclipse.
Should half his Sentences be truly Numbred,
And weigh'd in Wisdom's Scales, 'twould spoil a Lombard:
And Churches Homilies, but Homily be,
If Venerable WHITING, set by thee.
Profoundest Judgment, with a Meekness rare,
Preferr'd him to the Moderator's Chair;
Where like Truth's Champion, with his piercing Eye,
He silenc'd Errors, and made Hectors fly.
Soft Answers quell hot Passions; ne'er too soft
Where solid Judgment is enthron'd aloft.
Church Doctors are my Witnesses, that here
Affections always kept their proper Sphere,
Without those Wilder Eccentricities,
Which spot the fairest Fields of Men most Wise.
In pleasant Places fall that Peoples Line,
Who have but Shadows of Men thus Divine.
Much more their Presence, and Heaven pierceing Prayers,
Thus many Years, to mind our Soul-Affairs.
A poorest Soil oft has the Richest Mine;
This Weighty Oar, poor Lyn was lately thine.
O Wondrous Mercy! But this Glorious Light
Hath left thee in the Terrors of the Night.
New England, didst thou know this Mighty One.
His Weight and Worth, thou'dst think thy self undone:
One of thy Golden Chariots, which among
The Clergy, render'd thee a Thousand strong:
One, who for Learning, Wisdom, Grace, and Years,
Among the Levites hath not many Peers:
One, yet with God a Kind of Heavenly Band,
Who did whole Regiments of Woes withstand:
One, that prevail'd with Heaven; One greatly mist
On Earth; he gain'd of Christ whate'er he list:
One of a World; who was both born and bred
At Wisdom's Feet, hard by the Fountain's Head.
The Loss of such an One, would fetch a Tear,
From Niobe her self if she were here.

What qualifies our Grief, centers in This,
Be our Loss near so Great, the Gain is his.