VirginiaHuguenot
Puritanboard Librarian
Thomas Watson, A Funerall Elegy upon the reverend his deare deceafed friend, Mr. Jeremiah Whitaker:
O Let me weep, and even like a Spring
Unto the Sea of griefe fome Tribute bring.
Thefe Cheekes of mine with Tears bedew'd fhall fwell
For this Seraphique Saint who lately fell.
To lofe a Friend is fad, but for our Nation
To lofe a Jeremy is Lamentation.
Could he from death fome way releafed be
His vertues furely might have fet him free;
But 'twas a debt; and what enflamed defire
Had he to leave his mantle and flye higher!
How fhall I praife his worth, and not difpraife?
Say more, and not fay leffe? darkning his rayes.
Meekneffe, humility, in this Orbe fhin'd,
In him the chaine of Graces was combin'd.
How was he fir'd with zeal even from his youth,
And though he loft all, would hold faft the truth.
With Jeremy he was a man of ftrife,
Yet not for Tithes but Souls; this was his life;
A downright, upright man he was, a Star
Whofe facred influence, diffufed far:
And that of thefe an end I may enclofe,
His faith in Chrift he folely did repofe.
This made him when he felt the fharpest pain
Upon the flinty racke, not to complaine;
Nay when he at the point of death did lye,
Did as the milky Swan moft gently dye.
What did he dye? his foul as in a Cell,
In heavens bright Paradife is gone to dwell
Among the Cherubines, where he doth ring
With them that joyntly Hallelujahs fing:
Where he for teares in joy doth much encreafe,
Pleafure doth him of former paine releafe;
He never fhall of Stone, or Ulcer heare,
He never need any more fickneffe feare.
Deare Saint! I fooner had adorn'd thy hearfe,
But griefe firft vents by weeping, then, by verfe.
O Let me weep, and even like a Spring
Unto the Sea of griefe fome Tribute bring.
Thefe Cheekes of mine with Tears bedew'd fhall fwell
For this Seraphique Saint who lately fell.
To lofe a Friend is fad, but for our Nation
To lofe a Jeremy is Lamentation.
Could he from death fome way releafed be
His vertues furely might have fet him free;
But 'twas a debt; and what enflamed defire
Had he to leave his mantle and flye higher!
How fhall I praife his worth, and not difpraife?
Say more, and not fay leffe? darkning his rayes.
Meekneffe, humility, in this Orbe fhin'd,
In him the chaine of Graces was combin'd.
How was he fir'd with zeal even from his youth,
And though he loft all, would hold faft the truth.
With Jeremy he was a man of ftrife,
Yet not for Tithes but Souls; this was his life;
A downright, upright man he was, a Star
Whofe facred influence, diffufed far:
And that of thefe an end I may enclofe,
His faith in Chrift he folely did repofe.
This made him when he felt the fharpest pain
Upon the flinty racke, not to complaine;
Nay when he at the point of death did lye,
Did as the milky Swan moft gently dye.
What did he dye? his foul as in a Cell,
In heavens bright Paradife is gone to dwell
Among the Cherubines, where he doth ring
With them that joyntly Hallelujahs fing:
Where he for teares in joy doth much encreafe,
Pleafure doth him of former paine releafe;
He never fhall of Stone, or Ulcer heare,
He never need any more fickneffe feare.
Deare Saint! I fooner had adorn'd thy hearfe,
But griefe firft vents by weeping, then, by verfe.
