 | Carolina |  |
The DIVINE.
Upon Dr. Huit's Death by Cromwel.
1659.
Rash times, and men, to hurry hence
What Ages cannot recompence!
For by his timeless death we lost
The rarities of holy cost.
He try'd all Learning, and from thence
Did cull the perfect quintescence
Hence was his Tongue with Essence tipt,
His Lips in heavenly Nectar dipt.
He pleas'd the Mind, and eas'd the Heart;
His Sermons twisted Grace and Art.
His Zeal was learn'd he could intice
A man, with pleasure, from a Vice.
34
And practis'd, grew good with delight;
He heard his Sentence with that chear,
That upstart Lords their Titles hear.
Let Traitors quake with crimes opprest;
Let guilt raise Earthquakes in their Breasts;
Let a rebellious Ague seize
Their bloods, and Horrour turn disease;
Let such ones tremble: Glorious Soul!
Thou dost thine envious fate controul:
What Coward arm'd with thy sure Ward,
Need fear a Tower or a Guard?
Halberds and Troops (ta'n in right sence)
Serv'd but to guard thine Innocence.
Thy Cause, and Spirit makes us vow
Thy Judges suffer'd, and not thou.
Their bloody Sentence (to their spight)
More then their Pardon, did thee right;
The Axe cut them; and once they'l know
They had by far the worser blow.
Thy rising Soul was then more tall,
When others stoop, just at thy fall;
Sol biggest is, when he does come
To rest thus in his Western home;
In Seas he sets, and thou in tears;
Thine Ocean far more deep appears.
And when thou dost in Glory rise,
Thy beams will daze their blood-shot-Eyes.
| Carolina | |