The Sorrowful Mother,
OR,
The Pious Daughters Last Farewel.
She patiently did run her Race,
believd the Word of Truth;
And Death did willingly embrace,
tho in her blooming Youth.
To the Tune of, Troy Town.
This may be Printed, R.P.
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DEar Mother, I alas! must leave
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the pleasures of this life, and you,
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Yet never seem to sigh or grieve,
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although I bid the world adieu;
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Tho Death now my life destroy,
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Yet we shall meet again in joy.
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My Daughter dear, and is it so?
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that I indeed must part with thee;
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This fills my heart with grief and woe,
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from sorrow I shall ner be free;
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But languish here in deep dispair,
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My grief is more then I can bear.
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Dear Mother, do not thus lament,
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my joys abundantly encrease,
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To leave this world I am content,
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for I shall now lye down in peace,
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Such moan for me you need not make,
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Sure he that gives may freely take.
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To his good will I ought agree,
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but as thou art my Daughter dear,
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I weep and do lament to see
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that Heavens hand is so severe;
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To send thee to the silent Grave,
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No greater sorrow can I have.
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O that I could but you enjoyn
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to exercise your patience still,
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And never murmur nor repine,
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against the Lords most gracious will;
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For if he say, it shall be so,
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Why should I not be free to go?
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My feeble Carcass now is weak,
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therefore I say my dearest friends,
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Unto the Lord alone I seek,
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to gain a pardon for my Sins:
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That so my Conscience may be clear,
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Deaths cruel Dart ide never fear.
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For it will me from grief release,
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as soon as he the stroke shall give,
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I having made my perfect peace,
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I now had rather dye then live:
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Alas! what is this present Life,
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But sorrow, trouble, care and strife.
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Her Friends was filld with grief and woe,
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so that they could not well refrain
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From tears which did in sorrow flow,
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they wrung their hands and wept amain
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With fainting voice, O then said she,
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Weep for your Sins and not for me.
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For I am going where I shall
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be happy to Eternity,
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Therefore to God for Mercy call,
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as knowing you must follow me:
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No Mortal in the world is free
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From Deaths Usurping Tyranny.
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Tho some you see in Pride appears,
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adornd in Silk and sweet Perfume,
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Altho they flourish many year,
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yet Death at last will be their Doom:
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they then must change their garments sweet
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For a poor Shroud or Winding-Sheet.
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Consider well what I have said,
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for I must leave you now, said she
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For here behold all round my Bed,
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sweet Messengers that waits for me;
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Who on their Wings will me convey,
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Where peace and joys will ner decay.
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This does much comfort now afford,
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as knowing they my Soul will bring
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Into the presence of the Lord,
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where blessed Saints and Angels Sing;
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Then with a dying sigh, said she,
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Sweet Saviour now I come to thee.
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When she out of this world did go,
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her Mothers sorrow was not small,
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Each Friend did manifest her woe,
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by tears, which did like showers fall:
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No tongue is able to express,
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Their sorrow, grief, and heaviness.
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A tender Mother did express
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those words unto her friends, and said,
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My grief and sorrow is the less,
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to see the happy end she made:
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A worthy pattern may she be,
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To Damsels now of each degree.
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