WALES LAMENTATION. OR, AN ELEGY On the Worthy, and very much Lamented, Mr. Henry Williams, Minister of the Gospel, In NORTH-WALES.
I Who afore made Elegies by Art,
Now Nature vents, and bleeds one from my Heart.
Let Words with Sorrow drunk, from my Soul reel,
Disorder'd as the Passions that I feel,
To groan this Loss: A Loss so near, so great!
A Loss so Universal; so Compleat!
A Loss which scarce admits of a Relief;
The deepest, sensiblest, sagacious Grief,
Can't reach to its unfathom'd Consequence!
A Loss above Expression, and our Sense!
A man of Men! A Man of God did die!
His Foes, that knew him, this will testifie.
When, first, to's Soul an Heavenly Spark was sent,
It shone, and gave a Lustre where he went.
No sooner Holiness was planted there,
It did appear about him every where:
It self diffus'd, with Beams most clear and strong,
Through the whole Series of his Life along.
So all that knew him, and know things aright,
Knew that he was a Bright and Shining Light.
Some few rejoyc'd, too, in his Light a while;
Who now their Loss, as well as we, bewail.
To Neighbours Courteous: When their Wants but cry'd,
Relief from Purse, and Counsel, not deny'd.
None's Help was readier, nor no Heart so free,
To the Distressed; none more kind than He:
But more to Those, who thirsted for his Blood?
He thirsted too; but 'twas to do them Good:
Good to their Souls, their Bodies, their Estate:
And thus, with Kindness, he repair'd their Hate.
Bounteous in Alms: A Charity so large;
Tho' State but small, and numerous his Charge.
He ne'er could have his Liberal Aims pursu'd,
Had not the Blessing Oyl and Meal renew'd.
Wonders alike, tho' not so great as those,
Where Thousands fed their Bellies with Few Loaves.
Whole Crowds of Poor ne'er sought his Door in vain;
He did their Souls, and Stomachs, entertain:
He judg'd them not sufficiently well fed,
Till he had offer'd them Eternal Bread.
The Family of Faith fed as his Own;
His House gave large, his Heart a larger Room.
All that his House, or Substance, could afford;
His Fields, his Stable, or his Beds or Board,
To treat such Guests, they alwayes ready find:
How wide an Hand; how bountiful a Mind!
How noble, large, and general Soul he had?
He lov'd the Good, and pitied all the Bad:
O're whom he wept: With pressing Eagerness,
He beg'd and woo'd, t' accept of Happiness.
Thus Bowels had for All. But, Oh! his Heart
(When he did act the tender Father's Part)
Torn with T [...] [...], and fierce Desires,
[...] [...]ave all His from Hells Eternal Fires;
Thought none scarce Born, till they had chang'd their State;
Nor well his Own, until Regenerate.
Hence with such Pains, Instructions, Prayers, and Tears,
He sow'd, and water'd, all their tender Years.
And when that Distance stopt his Vocal Call,
He breath'd his Soul, in Letters, to them All.
So Teaching, Wooeing, Charming, so Divine!
The Father full appear'd in every Line.
Nor did he, altogether, plow on Steel;
Many the Answers of his Prayers feel.
'Tis hop'd the rest will feed yet, tho' on Crumbs:
If not; What dismal, howling Reckoning comes?
No Vengeance so uneasie to endure,
As that, which slighted Counsels do procure.
But still, within his special Love and Care,
His Sp'ritual Children had the greatest Share:
The Church, I mean; o'er whom he did preside:
The Little Flock entrusted him to feed:
For whom to Violence he was a Prey,
And bore the Heat and Burden of the Day:
The Horrors, Colds, and Dangers of the Night;
Hell's utmost Rage, and Men's most cruel Spite:
Yet nothing could him from his Duty fright.
In Perils, oft, by Waters, Foes, and Wayes;
Spar'd not his Body under great Decayes.
Thus eager Grace drove weary on,
Unto a voluntary Martyrdom.
Hunger, and Cold, his song Companions oft;
With Lodgings hard, nor Carriage very soft.
With wondrous Patience, Troubles he subdu'd;
His Master's Will, unweariedly pursu'd.
What ever wand'ring Paths, that others trod,
He kept the Way, and wrought the Work of God.
To various Prisons, cast for several Years;
Insulted o'er by Ishmael-Scoffs and Jeers.
Baited and worried by fierce Men. 'Twas thus,
That Paul did fight with Beasts at Ephesus.
Nor was't his Liberty, alone, he lost;
Rob'd and strip'd bare; by various Losses tost.
His Flocks, and Herds, torn from him in a Day;
And all he had became the Cruel's Prey.
Yet none of these could force him from his Ground;
Tho' Faith, and Patience, was assaulted round:
For with undaunted Unconcern'd, he view'd
Himself thus serv'd; his Substance hack'd and hew'd.
With Heavenly Courage bore he all, that Laws,
Or Hell, could load him for his Master's Cause.
He found his greatest Gain in every Loss;
And his Redeemer had perfum'd the Cross.
His Strength, and Comforts, weigh'd his Labors down:
Pond'rous his Load, more pond'rous his Crown.
As Hell did plague and waste, still Heaven did bless:
Nor were his Cordials, than his Conflicts, less.
T' omit the secret Kisses of Christ's Love;
The Conscience-Banquets sent him from Above;
Let us not pass that wondrous Field of Corn,
(To poize his Loss, nor Miracles forborn:)
His Earth was heal'd of all her antient Curse;
The Sums he gave for Christ to re-imburse:
The Clods, divinely, bid their Strength release;
The Earth entomb'd Ten Thousand fold Increase.
And when the Earth, to the whole Land, was wild;
To him, alone, was easie, kind, and mild.
And tho' pale Famine threat'ned all the Land,
An Army of Joyful Corn for him did stand,
In monstrous thickness, 'fore the Winds, do sail;
Waving their double, triple[?] Heads, each Gale:
Their Heads, with Blessings, bow'd, rever'd their God,
And offer to his Servant all their Load.
The Miracle, like nimble[?] Lightning, flew,
And fill'd all Tongues with things so great, so new.
The Good rejoyc'd; his Troublers lost their Rage;
Since God so plainly did for him engage:
The Furious cease to roar; contract their Paws;
Let fall the List-up Engine of the Laws.
This Prodigy had struck their Outrage mute:
Nor durst they ever after Persecute.
But Heaven declares on still: Smites some with Blasts;
Life and Estate, with secret Curses, wastes:
And yet the Persecutors fear and quake.
Ere long, God's sleeping Thunder will awake.
Some this Side Hell shall taste his angry Cup;
Whom, for Examples, he will Gibbet up.
But this Meek Saint for these did Intercede:
God's Love and Mercy, not[?] Revenge, did plead:
And sought to stop the Plagues, that o'er them spread.
Nor swell'd, for him that Miracles came down;
Tho' Prais'd his God for wondrous Favors shown:
But still his Joys some greater Cause did own.
For here the Pillar of his Comforts stood,
That Christ for him had shed his Precious Blood.
Thus liv'd the Worthy, lov'd by God and Man;
His Fruitful Years thus to their Period ran.
No Day, nor Hour, pass'd without its Pain;
Nor scarce a Minute stole away in vain.
Goodness his Meat and Drink; his Day and Night,
His Master's Service was his whole Delight.
He spends himself for Jesus, and was spent:
His Strength consumed, and his Vitals rent.
Death spy'd the 'vantage; crept a Conqu'ror in;
On his spent Vitals preys and preys agen:
The Fort demolishes; which he did win:
Invades the Seat of Life, with every Dart;
And very busie was about his Heart.
Now Nature struggling strong with inward, pains
My wasted Vitals.—Oh! my Breast complains.
As Nature fades, his Graces brighter shone;
Now, Heaven in view, his Soul moves swifter on.
An earnest Longing egg'd him to be free,
As Pris'ners at the Point of Liberty.
Impatient,[?] urging, weary of Delay:
Thus long'd his Soul to leave its House of Clay.
Yet murmur'd not; thought his Lord's Time the best:
Tho' tyr'd; with Patience, vaited for his Rest.
His humble Thoughts still judg'd all things too Good;
Whether it were his Physick, or his Food.
Prais'd God for All; and for the sharpest Pain:
Thought nothing hard his God on him had lain.
His Heart, in Praise, does flame, and nimbly run;
And the great Work of Heaven had begun.
Thus practising the Glorious Notes above;
And learning the Seraphick Song of Love.
His Joys were solid, and no idle Dreams:
As he did, warns us to avoid Extreams.
Blessings, when here possess'd, (our Nature's such)
We prize too little; when they're gone, too much.
His Soul releas'd, flew up to Jesus's Arms;
Where now secure from Sorrow, Sin, or Harms:
Encompass'd round with unconceived Bliss:
(Hope turn'd to Vision; Faith, Fruition is.)
Is perfected, and made compleatly Just:
Sown in his Garden, lies his precious Dust:
Which shall, at last, a Glorious Body rise;
Pure, Perfect, Brighter than the fiery Skies.
Mean while, his Soul with Joys, Immortal, Crown'd;
In Streams profound, of endless Pleasures drown'd.
With Voice Angelick, seems to speak to us;
Friends and Relations, all, why grieve you thus?
Weep not for Me; for I am fully blest;
Of Glory, Joy, and Happiness possest:
Nor for your selves too much. Christ able is
To make up whatsoe'er in me you miss.
He can be All what Death in me did end;
A Pastor, Husband, Father, and a Friend.
We shall in Heaven a Relation own;
Not Gross and Sensual; but more Spir'tual grown:
And know in all things There, as we are known.
And meet again There, Never to separate:
Our Meeting as Eternal, as our State.
An EPITAPH.
WIthin this Garden Precious Seed is sown;
Which will last Day a glorious Flower be blown;
A Flower, which all the Spices shall excell:
A Flower, that's only fit for Heaven's own Smell.
I mean, within this Grave his Dust does rest;
Who Living, was, in most Respects, the Best.
The Best of Masters, Neighbours, and of Friends;
Active in Good, and Ʋpright in his Ends.
Of Husbands, and of Fathers too, the Best;
A Pastor too amongst the Faithfullest.
A truer Christian, or a better Man,
The Earth ne'er bore, or Sun e'er shone upon.
Poor World! How vain art thou, that must divest
Of that that is, indeed, thy very Best?
Who would be fond in thee, mad Spot, to stay;
Since all thy Best thus fading is Away?