A
TEAR DROPT
FROM THE
HEARSE
Of the Reverend
Dr. Benjamin Calamy;
LATE
Minister of St. Lawrence Jury London, Who departed this Life on Sunday the 3d of January, 1685 6
Quis matrem in funere Nati Here vetat?
|
AS when some Tempest rages in the Air,
|
And against all the Wood proclaims a War,
|
The Humble Shrubs are scarce concernd at all,
|
Only the Oaks and mighty Cedars Fall;
|
Those are a Prize to Beggerly and Low,
|
But these become the Greatness of the Foe.
|
Those remain Safe, because Defenceless quite,
|
But against these doth their own Greatness Fight.
|
Dust, thus it is in the Assaults of Fate,
|
The Common Herd is seldome Brave or Great;
|
They by the Foe do Unregarded ly,
|
And Live so long till they woud chose to Die.
|
But where you see a large and spacious Mind,
|
Where Worth and Virtue are with Learning joind;
|
Where Noble Thoughts do with like Deeds conspire,
|
And the whole Man is Perfect and Intire;
|
There you may see the Malice of our Fate,
|
And what Misfortunes doth on Virtue wait,
|
Whilst those that never could deserve to Die,
|
But might have Challengd Immortality,
|
Meet still the soonest with their Destiny.
|
These are the Noblest, and the greatest Prey,
|
And Fate by this, goes a compendious way;
|
For she Wounds us, whilst she doth these Men Slay.
|
Thus he Great BEN with all his Learning Dies;
|
Too Early, and too Dear a SACRIFICE.
|
He whose great mind was with all useful Knowledge fraught,
|
That Nature ever gave, or Art has Taught;
|
He and his Worth are Witherd, cold, and Dead,
|
And the Treasures of his Mind are Fled:
|
Nothing has scapd the fierce and angry Flame,
|
But his great Memory and Immortal Name.
|
Nought such a Loss can equal or befit
|
Less than his powerful Eloquence and Wit;
|
Some small remains of those with us abide,
|
But all the rest the envious Dark doth hide.
|
Some single Sheets indeed the Press imparts,
|
The rest are writ upon the Hearers Hearts:
|
His Charming Periods are past and gone,
|
And in his Peoples Lives must now be shown.
|
Pity such Words in transient sounds should Die,
|
Or in a Study unregarded ly;
|
Pity each falling Line had not been Writ
|
In Charactors as lasting as his Wit;
|
That the next Age by him might learn to make
|
Those Rules, by which they from that Place should speak.
|
The Gospel in such streaming Sense did flow,
|
When the Apostles Preachd to Men Below:
|
The Current sometimes troubled was, I own,
|
Which by his seeming Lisping oft was shown;
|
But twas the Torrent of his Eloquence,
|
The strife betwixt his crowding Words and Sense;
|
Still with such hidden Influence he could dive,
|
And to his Hearers Brest himself derive;
|
So gently touch each Fault and Festerd Part,
|
Yet the charmd Patient not betray the Smart.
|
Could such a pleasing Force Evidence show,
|
Yet still the Sinner unoffended go:
|
It provd his Sermons could like Lightning Pierce
|
Quite to the Blade, the Scabbard neer the worse:
|
Which shows thou only, and some happy few,
|
The true and genuine Art of Preaching knew.
|
Our Church will own, tho she receives a Blow,
|
Yet still a Numerous Race of Youths can show,
|
Who by thy Doctrine and Example fed,
|
May come in time our Churches Cause to Head.
|
And, Oh! If thy Example this can do,
|
Why didst thou not let fall thy Spirit too?
|
But say Blessd Shade, so soon why wouldst thou go,
|
And take thyself from mournful Us below:
|
Tell me didst thou by a fore-seeing Eye,
|
See some Black Tempest gathering in our Skie;
|
Was that the cause? ------
|
I rather think the partial Hand of Fate
|
Did but too ill thy Soul and Body Mate.
|
If the Souls Gaol the Body Stile we must,
|
Into the worst of Prisons thine was thrust:
|
Thou tird and a weary to the Grave didst come,
|
But leave that Life which was grown Burdensome.
|
Hold, happy Shade, here must my Number cease,
|
No more I will presume to vex thy Peace;
|
Besides I see thy Praedecessors stand,
|
To meet and joy thee to the promisd Land.
|
Go happy Saint, and there injoy that Rest,
|
Which here on Earth is still denid the Best.
|
All we can do, is to Adorn thy HEARSE
|
And hang it round with this poor Mortal VERSE.
|
|
|
|
|
|