AN
ELEGY
In Memory of that Reverend Divine
Mr. EDMOND CALAMY.
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SO falls a Star when it deludes our sight,
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For, look but up, you'l see the Star stil bright;
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What fell, was earth, which, all its substance spent,
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Subsided to its proper Element:
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So was our Friend, of whom we are bereaven,
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A Composition made of Earth and Heaven;
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Heav'n challeng'd his Immortal Soul, and then
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The Elements took, what they gave, agen.
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He's now at's Fathers House, his ancient home,
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Whither at last his Body too shall come,
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Where he the Company of Angels keeps,
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Whilst weary Nature in her Causes sleeps
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Not that his Part Diviner does forsake it,
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But let it rest, till the last Trump awake it.
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Then he will come in the Angelick Chore,
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And put it on, that put it off before.
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And every atome of that sacred dust,
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With which he did the greedy worms entrust;
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His Soul shall gather from beneath this stone,
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And as a Robe of glory put it on.
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Then what Embracings, what a heavenly greeting!
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'Twould be (methinks) a heaven to see the meet-ing.
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Then they shall meet never to part at all,
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And rise again, never again to fall.
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All this consider'd rightly, I may well,
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And truly say, he rather rise than fell:
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How ere, according to th' Apostle's word,
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He now is blest, because dead in the Lord.
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He from his labours rests, and his works do,
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Both follow him, and stay behind him too.
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Who being dead, yet speaketh; In this night
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Of ignorance, he left a paper light,
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Which we keep still, though of himself bereaven,
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And are his heirs, to make us heirs of heaven.
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Thus as his heaven-born-soul her earth declines,
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He plays the Glow-worm, and in darkness shines;
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Who like a Tapour burning heavenly bright,
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Did spend himself by giving others light.
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Good fight he fought, o'recame the fatal three,
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Which Christians call the common Enemie.
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He kept the Faith, his ever trusty shield,
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And more than Conquerour march't off the field.
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I might proceed in lofty stile to raise him,
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But that's already done, for his works praise him.
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'Tis not in Rhetorick, an applause to lend him;
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Say but what's true, and you then most commend him.
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His Church, and he (as if agreed by either)
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Fell in a manner, I may say, together;
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Where long he preacht, until put out by men,
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But Death was kind, and put him in agen:
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There his remains are treasur'd up, content
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To take her ruins for his Monument.
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