Poems or, A Miscellany of Sonnets, Satyrs, Drollery, Panegyricks, Elegies, &c. At the Instance, and Request of Several Friends, Times, and Occasions, Composed; and now at their command Collected, and Committed to the Press. By the Author, M. Stevenson |
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An Elegy upon a Reverend Divine Buryed in the Ruines of his Church.
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An Elegy upon a Reverend Divine Buryed in the Ruines of his Church.
So falls a Star, when it deludes our sight,For look but up, you'l see it still shine bright.
What fell was Earth, which, all its substance spent,
Subsided to its proper Element.
Such was our friend, of whom we are bereaven,
A composition made of Earth and Heaven.
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The Elements took, what they gave, agen.
He's now at's Father's house, his ever home,
Whither at last his Body too shall come;
Where he the Company of Angels keeps,
Whilst weary Nature in her Causes sleeps:
Not that his part diviner does forsake it,
But lets it rest, till the last Trump awake it.
Then he will come in the Angelick shore,
And put it on, that put it off before:
Not as he left it, a poor lump of Clay,
No; but as bright and glorious as the Day;
Refin'd from all that drossie is, and foul;
And now Immortal, as his heaven-born soul.
Then what embracings, what a heavenly greeting,
Nay, it is Heaven it self to see the Meeting.
Then shall they meet, never to part at all,
And rise again, never again to fall.
All this consider'd rightly, I may well
And truly say, he rather rose than fell.
Howe'er, according to the Apostles word,
He now is blest, because dead in the Lord.
He from his labours rests, and his Works do
Both follow him, and stay behind him too.
Who being dead, yet speaketh; In the Night
Of Ignorance, he left a Paper light.
Which we still keep, though of himself bereaven,
And are his Heirs, to make us Heirs of Heaven.
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He plays the Glo-worm, and in darkness shines.
Thus like a Taper burning, Heavenly bright,
He spent himself in giving others light.
God's fight he fought, o'recame the fatal Three,
Which Christians call the common Enemy.
He kept the Faith his ever trusty Shield,
And more than Conqueror marcht off the Field.
'Tis not in Rhetorick, an applause to lend him,
Say but what's true, and you then most commend him.
His Church and he, as if agreed by either,
Fell in a manner, I may say, together.
Where long he preacht, until put out by Men,
But Death was kind, and put him in agen.
There his Remains are treasur'd up, content
To take her Ruines for his Monument.
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