The Works of the Reverend and Learned Isaac Watts, D. D. Containing, besides his Sermons, and Essays on miscellaneous subjects, several additional pieces, Selected from his Manuscripts by the Rev. Dr. Jennings, and the Rev. Dr. Doddridge, in 1753: to which are prefixed, memoirs of the life of the author, compiled by the Rev. George Burder. In six volumes |
 | IV. |
|
|
|
| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
|
|
|
|
| I. |
| II. |
|
| I. |
| II. |
|
| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| III. |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
| VIII. |
 | The Works of the Reverend and Learned Isaac Watts, D. D. |  |
LIV.—AN ELEGY ON THE MUCH-LAMENTED DEATH OF MRS. ELIZABETH BURY, LATE WIFE OF THE REV. MR. SAMUEL BURY, OF BRISTOL, ANNEXED TO SOME MEMOIRS OF HER LIFE, DRAWN UP BY HIM; BUT COLLECTED OUT OF HER OWN PAPERS.
She must ascend; her treasure lies on high,
And there her heart is. Bear her thro' the sky
On wings of harmony, ye sons of light,
And with surrounding shields protect her flight.
Teach her the wondrous songs yourselves compose
For you bright world; she'll learn 'em as she goes;
The sense was known before: Those sacred themes,
The God, the Saviour, and the flowing streams
That ting'd the cursed tree with blood divine,
Purchas'd a heav'n, and wash'd a world from sin;
The beams, the bliss, the vision of that face
Where the whole godhead shines in mildest grace;
These are the notes for which your harps are strung,
These were the joy and labour of her tongue
In our dark regions. These exalted strains
Brought paradise to earth, and sooth'd her pains.
‘Souls made of pious harmony and love,
‘Can be no strangers to their work above.’
And there her heart is. Bear her thro' the sky
On wings of harmony, ye sons of light,
And with surrounding shields protect her flight.
Teach her the wondrous songs yourselves compose
For you bright world; she'll learn 'em as she goes;
The sense was known before: Those sacred themes,
The God, the Saviour, and the flowing streams
That ting'd the cursed tree with blood divine,
Purchas'd a heav'n, and wash'd a world from sin;
The beams, the bliss, the vision of that face
Where the whole godhead shines in mildest grace;
These are the notes for which your harps are strung,
These were the joy and labour of her tongue
In our dark regions. These exalted strains
Brought paradise to earth, and sooth'd her pains.
‘Souls made of pious harmony and love,
‘Can be no strangers to their work above.’
584
But must we lose her hence? The muse in pain
Regrets her flight, and calls the saint again.
Stay, gentle spirit, stay. Can nature find
No charms to hold the once unfetter'd mind?
Must all those virtues, all those graces soar
Far from our sight, and bless the earth no more?
Must the fair saint to worlds immortal climb,
For ever lost to all the sons of time?
O, no; she is not lost. Behold her here,
How just the form! how soft the lines appear!
The features of her soul, without disguise,
Drawn by her own bless'd pen: a sweet surprise
To mourning friends. The partner of her cares
Seiz'd the fair piece, and wash'd it o'er with tears,
Dress'd it in flow'rs, then hung it on her urn,
A pattern for her sex in ages yet unborn.
Regrets her flight, and calls the saint again.
Stay, gentle spirit, stay. Can nature find
No charms to hold the once unfetter'd mind?
Must all those virtues, all those graces soar
Far from our sight, and bless the earth no more?
Must the fair saint to worlds immortal climb,
For ever lost to all the sons of time?
O, no; she is not lost. Behold her here,
How just the form! how soft the lines appear!
The features of her soul, without disguise,
Drawn by her own bless'd pen: a sweet surprise
To mourning friends. The partner of her cares
Seiz'd the fair piece, and wash'd it o'er with tears,
Dress'd it in flow'rs, then hung it on her urn,
A pattern for her sex in ages yet unborn.
Daughters of Eve, come, trace these heav'nly lines,
Feel with what power the bright example shines;
She was what you should be. Young virgins, come,
Drop a kind tear, and dress you at her tomb:
Gay silks and diamonds are a vulgar road;
Her radiant virtues should create the mode.
Matrons, attend her hearse with thoughts refin'd,
Gaze and transcribe the beauties of her mind,
And let her live in you. The meek, the great,
The chaste, yet free; the cheerful, yet sedate:
Swift to forgiveness, but to anger slow,
And rich in solid learning more than show,
With charity and zeal, that rarely join,
And all the human graces and divine,
Reign'd in her breast, and held a pleasing strife
Thro' every shifting scene of various life,
The maid, the bride, the widow, and the wife.
Feel with what power the bright example shines;
She was what you should be. Young virgins, come,
Drop a kind tear, and dress you at her tomb:
Gay silks and diamonds are a vulgar road;
Her radiant virtues should create the mode.
Matrons, attend her hearse with thoughts refin'd,
Gaze and transcribe the beauties of her mind,
And let her live in you. The meek, the great,
The chaste, yet free; the cheerful, yet sedate:
Swift to forgiveness, but to anger slow,
And rich in solid learning more than show,
With charity and zeal, that rarely join,
And all the human graces and divine,
Reign'd in her breast, and held a pleasing strife
Thro' every shifting scene of various life,
The maid, the bride, the widow, and the wife.
Nor need a manly spirit blush to gain
Exalted thoughts from her superior vein.
Attend her hints, ye sages of the schools,
And by her nobler practice frame your rules.
Let her inform you to address the ear
With conquering suasion, or reproof severe,
And still without offence. Thrice happy soul,
That could our passions, and her own control;
Could wield and govern that unruly train,
Sense, fancy, pleasure, fear, grief, hope and pain,
And live sublimely good! Behold her move
Thro' earth's rude scenes, yet point her thoughts above.
‘Seraphs on earth pant for their native skies,
‘And nature feels it painful not to rise.’
Exalted thoughts from her superior vein.
Attend her hints, ye sages of the schools,
And by her nobler practice frame your rules.
Let her inform you to address the ear
With conquering suasion, or reproof severe,
And still without offence. Thrice happy soul,
That could our passions, and her own control;
Could wield and govern that unruly train,
Sense, fancy, pleasure, fear, grief, hope and pain,
And live sublimely good! Behold her move
Thro' earth's rude scenes, yet point her thoughts above.
‘Seraphs on earth pant for their native skies,
‘And nature feels it painful not to rise.’
Ye venerable tribes of holy men,
Read the devotions of her heart and pen,
And learn to pray and die. Burissa knew
To make life happy, and resign it too.
The soul that oft had walk'd the ethereal road,
Pleas'd with her summons, took her farewell flight to God.
Read the devotions of her heart and pen,
And learn to pray and die. Burissa knew
To make life happy, and resign it too.
The soul that oft had walk'd the ethereal road,
Pleas'd with her summons, took her farewell flight to God.
But ne'er shall words, or lines, or colours paint
Th'immortal passions of th'expiring saint.
What beams of joy, angelic airs, arise
O'er her pale cheeks, and sparkle thro' her eyes
In that dark hour! How all serene she lay
Beneath the openings of celestial day!
Her soul retires from sense, refines from sin,
While the descending glory wrought within;
Then in a sacred calm resign'd her breath,
And as her eyelids clos'd, she smil'd in death.
Th'immortal passions of th'expiring saint.
What beams of joy, angelic airs, arise
O'er her pale cheeks, and sparkle thro' her eyes
In that dark hour! How all serene she lay
Beneath the openings of celestial day!
Her soul retires from sense, refines from sin,
While the descending glory wrought within;
Then in a sacred calm resign'd her breath,
And as her eyelids clos'd, she smil'd in death.
O may some pious friend, who weeping stands
Near my last pillow with uplifted hands,
Or wipes the mortal dew from off my face,
Witness such triumphs in my soul; and trace
The dawn of glory in my dying mien,
While on my lifeless lips such heav'nly smiles are seen!
Near my last pillow with uplifted hands,
Or wipes the mortal dew from off my face,
Witness such triumphs in my soul; and trace
The dawn of glory in my dying mien,
While on my lifeless lips such heav'nly smiles are seen!
September 29, 1720.
| The Works of the Reverend and Learned Isaac Watts, D. D. | |