Poems on Several Occasions :: :: University of Virginia Library

O thou, releas'd from Fears and Perils now,
From Pain and Tumult of the Life below,
This little Tribute to thy Dust I pay;
Few Tears, but friendly, suit a Christian Lay,
From Him, who ne'er design'd a Friend as yet,
Alive or dead, to flatter or forget.
But fairest Truth will now no Blushes raise,
She runs no Danger from the highest Praise.

Open and free, honest in Word and Thought,
She shun'd no Questions, nor Disguises sought;
No oily Flattery on her Language hung,
The Heart flow'd genuine from the artless Tongue;
For Truth in unambiguous Speech delights,
And hates the ever-cautious Hypocrites:
Wretches of ev'ry Glimpse of Day afraid,
Souls under Cloaks, and Minds in Masquerade.
True Lord and God her Saviour she believ'd,
Nor Shews of Charity her Faith deceiv'd;
Supreme with God, Eternal and alone,
The Son coæval on his Father's Throne,
Spoke at his Will this universal All,
Call'd us from nought, and rais'd us from our Fall:
She knew Belief and Practise well agreed,
Nor to observe Commandments lost her Creed.

278

For Branches never bear without a Root;
Who tears the Vine up to secure the Fruit?

Tho' Vice with Unconcern She could not see,
Yet unaffected show'd her Piety;
Not cast in furious Pharisaic Mould
The Puritannick Shibboleth of old;
That seem'd all Mirth as Sin to disavow,
No formal Frowning sunk her even Brow,
As if each Look display'd its Owner's Fate,
And all that smil'd were seal'd for Reprobate;
As awkward Sow'rness were a Sign of Grace,
And sure Election blest an ugly Face:
As if Hell-fire were always plac'd in view,
Ordain'd for all Men, but the gloomy Few.

Her Zeal began at Heav'n, but did not end;
True to her Spouse, her Kindred, and her Friend
Faithful and tender in Relation's Ties,
Cordial to help, and prudent to advise.
Her Worth Domestick let her Consort tell,
So long who 'joy'd it, and who prov'd so well.
No sly Reserve or loud Debate was there,
Nor sullen Negligence of Houshold Care;
No niggard Murmurs, or profuse Expence,
But chearful Thrift, and easy Diligence:
No sep'rate Purse her private Sum did hold,
By secret pilf'ring from the Market-Gold:
No Bounty flow'd unknowing to her Spouse,
The Meeting never robb'd the Counting-House:
Always to Want without Injustice kind,
Doubling each Alms-Deed when the Husband join'd;

279

No sordid Lucre anxious to procure,
By grinding Bargains with the helpless Poor:
A Gain few Traders wish, She strove to reap,
From buying dearly, and from selling cheap;
Gain, where unfailing Interest shall be giv'n,
Since no Directors sink the Fund of Heav'n.
To cheer the Wretch she wav'd all Female Pride,
And oft her own Convenience laid aside;
Nor Silks nor Ornaments alone would spare,
To feed the Hungry, and to clothe the Bare.

Her Zeal for Church and Country might appear
Sometimes mistaken, never insincere:
Our growing Crimes with Terror late she saw,
Lest publick Guilt should publick Judgment draw;
Lest God so long provok'd in 'vengeful Hour,
Should grant us to the Hands of wicked Pow'r,
Our Laws, our Liberties, our Faith to sell,
By universal Bribes ensuring Hell.
She fears not now the Tempest whistling loud,
Nor Thunder gath'ring in the low-hung Cloud,
But rests secure from Dangers and from Dread,
Where Unbelief dare never lift its Head;
Where none the Sacred Gospel dare disown,
Nor Fav'rite Clarke the Son of God dethrone;
Where none esteem the paltry Dirt of Gold,
And Truth no longer can be bought or sold.

Oh! had the Saviour me so highly grac'd,
Me, tho' unworthy, at his Altars plac'd,
T'have loos'd the Charms that long her Soul did hold,
And gain'd the candid Wand'rer to his Fold!

280

With Triumph had I seen her then expire,
Secure of some Degrees in Glory higher.
Now the True Church in Purity She owns,
Nor starts at Bishop-Angels on their Thrones;
The one Communion void of Fault descries,
The Film for ever vanish'd from her Eyes:
Now after Death at least a Convert made,
Too good for those with whom on Earth she stray'd.
Her Teacher's self, as touch'd with inward Shame,
Avoids the mention of Her slighted Fame;
To Her no Incense, no Applause is giv'n,
Too much a Saint on Earth to reign in Heav'n:
Bradshaw and Ireton had their Heav'n possest,
Enthron'd in Baxter's Everlasting Rest.
Amazing Saintship! This perhaps You knew,
And wisely, Teacher, from the Subject flew:
Your Place befits not Characters so fair;
Her Faith, her Zeal, her Piety, forbear;
Her best Memorial is—Your Silence There.