University of Virginia Library

“Anagram made by mr John Willson of Boston upon the Death of Mrs Abigaill Tompson, And sent to her husband in uirginia, while he was sent to preach the gospell yr.”

i am gon to all bliss

The blessed news i send to the is this:
That i am goon from the unto all bliss,
Such as the saints & angells do enjoy,
Whom neither Deuill, world, nor flesh anoiy.
To bliss of blisses i am goon: to him
Who as a bride did for him selfe me trimm.
Thy bride i was, a most unworthy one,
But to a better bridegroom i am gon,
Who doth a Count me worthy of him selfe,
Tho i was neuer such a worthles elfe.
He hath me Cladd with his own Righteousness,
And for the sake of it he doth me bless.
Thou didst thy part to wash me, but his grace
Hath left no spott nor wrincle on my face.
Thou little thinkst, or Canst at all Conceiue,
What is the bliss that i do now receiue.
When oft i herd thē preach & pray & sing
I thought that heauen was a glorious thing,
And i belieud, if any knew, twas thou
That knewest what a thing it was; but now
I se thou sawest but a glimps, and hast
No more of heauen but a little tast,
Compāred with that which hear we see & haue,
Nor Canst haue more till thou art past the graue.
Thou neuer touldst me of the Tyth, nor yet
The hundred thousand thousand part of it.
Alas, Dear Soule, how short is all the fame
Of the third heauens, where i translated amm!
O, if thou euer louest me at all,
Whom thou didst by such loueing titles Call,
Yea, if thou louest Christ, (as who doth more?)
Then do not thou my Death too much deplore.
Wring not thy hand, nor sigh, nor mourn, nor weep,
All tho thine Abigaill be faln a sleep.
Tis but her body—that shall ryse again;
In Christs sweet bosomb doth her soule remain.
Mourn not as if thou hadst no hope of me;
Tis i, tis i haue Caus to pitty thee.
O turne thy sighings into songs of prais
Unto the name of god; lett all thy Days
Be spent in blessing of his name for thiss:
That he hath brought me to this place of bliss.
It was a blessed, a thrice blessed, snow
Which to the meeting i then waded through,
When piercd i was upon my naked skinn
Up to the middle, the deep snow within.
There neuer was more happie way i trodd,
That brought me home so soone unto my god
Instead of Braintry Church; Conducting mee
Into a better Church, where now i see,
Not sinfull men, But Christ & those that are
Fully exempt from euery spot & skarr
Of sinfull guilt, where i no longer need
Or word or seale my feeble soul to feede,
But face to face i do behould the lamb,
Who down from heauen for my saluation Came,
And thither is asended up again,
Me to prepare a place whear in to Raign,
Where we do allways hallaluiahs sing,
Where i do hope for the to Come err long
To sing thy part in this most glorious song.