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AN ELEGIE UPON The Death of the Reverend Mr. THOMAS SHEPARD, Late Teacher of the Church at Charlstown in New-England:
By a great Admirer of his Worth, and true Mourner for his Death.
Isai. 57 1.
The righteous perisheth, and no man sayeth it to heart, and merciful men are taken away, none considering that the righteous is taken away from the evil to come.
Zech. 1 5, 6.
Your Fathers where are they? And the Prophets do they live for ever? but my words and my statutes, which I commanded my servants the Prophets, did they not take hold of your Fathers?
Heb. 13 7.
Remember them which had the rule over you, who have spoken unto you the word of God, whose Faith follow, considering the end of their conversation.
CAMBRIDGE, Printed by Samuel Green. 1677.
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To the Reader.
(1)
REader! I am no Poet: but I grieve!
Behold here, what that passion can do!
That forc'd a verse, without Apollo's leave,
And whether th' Learned Sisters would or no.
My Griefs can hardly speak: my sobbing Muse
In broken terms our sad bereavement rues.
(2)
I wonder what the learned World still ailes,
To tune and pace their sorrows and complaints
In Rhythm and Verse! He that his crosses wailes
Indeed, would vent his griefs without restraints.
To tye our grief to numbers, measures, feet,
Is not to let it loose, but fetter it.
(3)
Is this it? that a Poets softer heart
Of great impressions susceptible is?
He wisely doth perform his mourning part
In Verse, lest grief should time and measure miss.
But griefs unmeasurable would not be
Curb'd, and rein'd-in by measur'd Poetry.
(4)
Stop, stop my Pen! lest Israel's singer sweet
Should be condemn'd, who, in that Song of th' Bow,
To vent his passionate complaints thought meet,
And to bewail his great Friends overthrow.
King David in an Elegiack Knell,
Rung out his dolours, when dear Jona'than fell.
(5)
No matter what's the trifling Poets Use,
Th' Imperious Law of custome we decide:
We have Diviner Warrant to produce,
The Soveraign, Sacred Poet is our guide,
He wept his Friend in verse: then let us try,
Now Shepard's faln, to write his Elegy.
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AN ELEGIE Upon that Reverend, Learned, Eminently Pious, and Singularly Accomplished Divine, my ever Honoured BROTHER Mr. THOMAS SHEPARD, The late Faithful and Worthy Teacher of the Church of Christ at Charlstown in New-England. Who finished his Course on Earth, and went to receive his Crown, December 22. 1677. In the 43d Year of his Age.
(1)
OH! that I were a Poet now in grain!
How would I invocate the Muses all
To deign their presence, lend their flowing Vein,
And help to grace dear Shepard's Funeral!
How would I paint our griefs, and succours borrow
From Art and Fancy, to limn out our sorrow!
(2)
Now could I wish (if wishing would obtain)
The sprightli'est Efforts of Poetick Rage,
To vent my Griefs, make others feel my pain,
For this loss of the Glory of our Age.
Here is a subject for the loftiest Verse
That ever waited on the bravest Hearse.
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[3]And [...] my Pen ingeniously distill
The purest Spirits of a sparkling wit
In rare conceits, the quintessence of skill
In Elegiack Strains; none like to it:
I should think all too little to condole
The fatal loss (to us) of such a Soul
[4]
Could I take highest Flights of Fancy, soar
Aloft; If Wits Monopoly were mine:
All would be much too low, too light, too poor,
To pay due tribute to this great Divine.
Ah! Wit avails not, when th'Heart's like to break,
Great griefs are Tongue ti'ed, when the lesser speak.
[5]
Away loose rein'd Careers of Poetry,
The celebrated Sisters may be gone;
We need no Mourning Womens Elegy,
No forc'd, affected, artificial Tone.
Great and good Shepard's Dead! Ah! this alone
Will set our eyes abroach, dissolve a stone.
[6]
Poetick Raptures are of no esteem,
Daring Hyperboles have here no place,
Luxuriant Wits on such a copious Theme,
Would shame themselves, and blush to shew their face
Here's worth enough to overmatch the skill
Of the most stately Poet Laureat's Quill.
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]7]Exube'rant Fancies useless here I deem,
Transcendent vertue scorns feign'd Elogies:
He that gives Shepard half his due, may seem,
If Strangers hear it, to Hyperbolize.
Let him that can, tell what his vertues were,
And say, this Star mov'd in no common Sphere.
[8]
Here need no Spices, Odours, curious Arts,
No skill of Egypt, to embalm the Name
Of such a Worthy: let men speak [...],
They'l say, He merits an Immortal Fame.
When Shepard is forgot, all must conclude,
This is prodigious ingratitude.
[9]
[...] live he shall in many a gratefull Breast,
VVhere he hath rear'd himself a Monument,
A Monument more stately than the best,
On which Immensest Treasures have been spent.
Could you but into th'Hearts of thousands peep,
There would you read his Name engraven deep.
[10]
Oh! that my head were VVaters, and mine Eyes
A flowing Spring of Tears, still issuing forth
In streams of bitterness, to solemnize
The Obits of this Man of matchless worth!
Next to the Tears our sins do need and crave,
I would bestow my Tears on Shepards Grave.
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(11)Not that he needs our Tears: for he hath dropt
His measure full; not one Tear more shall fall
Into God's Bottle from his eyes; Death stop:
That water-course, his sorrows ending all.
He Fears, he Cares, he Sighs, he Weeps no more:
Hee's past all storms, Arriv'd at th'wished Shoar.
[12]
Dear Shepard could we reach so high a strain
Of pure Scraphick [...]ve, as to dev [...]st
Our selves, an [...] [...], thy gain
Would joy us, [...] interest.
Then would we silence all complaints with this,
Our Dearest Friend is doubtless gone to Bliss.
(13)
Al! but the Lesson's hard, thus to deny
Our own dear selves, to part with such a Loan
Of Heaven (in time of such necessity)
And love thy comforts better than our own.
Then let us moan our loss, adjourn our glee,
Till we come thither to rejoice with thee.
[14]
As when some formidable Comets blaze,
As when Portentous Prodigies appear,
Poor Mortals with amazement stand and gaze,
With hearts affrighted, and with trembling fear:
So are we all amazed at this blow,
Sadly portending some approaching woe.
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[15]We shall not summon bold Astrologers,
To tell us what the Stars say in the case,
(Those Cousin-Germans to black Conjurers)
We have a sacred Oracle that says,
When th'Righteous perish, men of mercy go,
It is a sure presage of coming wo.
[16]
He was (ah woful word! to say he was)
Our wrestling Israel, second unto none,
The man that stood i'th' gap, to keep the pass,
To stop the Troops of Judgements [...] on.
This Man the honour had to hold the hand
Of an incensed God against our Land.
[17]
When such a Pillar's faln (On such an one!)
When such a glorious, shining Light's put out,
When Chariot and Horsemen thus are gone;
Well may we fear some Downfal, Darkness, Rout.
When such a Bank's broke down, there's sad occasion
To wail, and dread some grievous Inundation.
[18]
What! must we with our God, and Glory part?
Lord! is thy Treaty with New-England come
Thus to an end? And is War in thy Heart?
That this Ambassadour is called home.
So Earthly Gods (Kings) when they War intend,
Call home their Ministers, and Treaties end.
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[19]Oh for the Raptures, Transports, Inspirations
Of Israel's Singers, when his Jon'athan's Fall
So tun'd his mourning Harp! what Lamentations
Then would I make for Shepards Funerall
How truly can I say, as well as He?
My Dearest Brother I'am distress [...]d for thee.
[20]
How Lovely, Worthy, Peerless, in my view?
How Precious, [...] hast thou been to me?
How Learned, Prudent, Pious, Grave, and True?
And what a Faithful Frien [...] [...]?
Mine Eye's desire [...] [...]
Where [...] my dearest [...]
[21]
'Tis strange to think: but we may well believe,
That not a few of different Perswasions
From this great Worthy, do now truly grieve
I'th' Mourning c [...]oud, and joyn their Lamentations.
Such Powers Magnetick had He to draw to Him
The very Hearts, and Souls, of all that knew Him
[22]
Art, Nature, Grace, in Him were all combin'd
To sh [...]w the World a matchless Paragon:
In whom of Radiant Virtues no less sh [...]n'd,
Than a whole Constellation: but hee's gone!
Hee's gone alas! Down in the Dust must ly
As much of this rate [...] as could dy.
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[23]If to have solid Judgement, Pregnant Parts,
A piercing Wit, and comprehensive Brain;
If to have gone the Round of all the Arts,
Immunity from Deaths Arrest would gain,
Shepard would have been Death-proof, and secure
From that All conquering Hand, [...]m very sure.
[24]
If Holy Life, and Deeds of Charity,
If Grace illustrious [...] Virtue tri'ed,
If modest Carriage, rare Humility,
Could have bribd Death, good Shepard had not di'ed.
Oh! but inexorable Death attacks
The best Men, and promiscu'ous havock makes.
[25]
Come tell me, Criticks, [...] you ever known
Such Zeal, so temper'd [...] with moderation?
Such Prudence, and such Innocence met in one?
Such Parts, so little Pride and Ostentation?
Let Momus carp, and Envy do her worst,
And swell with Spleen and Rancour till she burst.
[26]
To be descended well, doth that commend?
Can Sons their Fathers Glory call their own?
Our Shepard justly might to this pretend,
(His Blessed Father was of high Renown,
Both Englands speak him great, admire his Name)
But his own personal worth's a better claim.
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[27]Great was the Father, once a glorious Light
Among us, Famous to an high Degree:
Great was this Son: indeed (to do him right)
As Great and Good (to say no more) as He.
A double portion of his Fathers Spirit
Did this (his Eldest) Son, through Grace, inherit.
[28]
His Look commanded Reverence and Awe,
Though Mild and Amiable, not Austere;
Well Humour [...]d was He (as I ever saw)
And rul'd by Love and Wisdome, more than Fear,
The Muses, and the Graces too, conspir'd
To set forth this Rare Piece, to be admir'd.
[29]
He govern'd well the Tongue (that busie thing,
Unruly, Lawless and Pragmatical)
Gravely Reserv'd, in Speech not lavishing,
Neither too sparing, nor too liberal.
His Words were few, well season'd, wisely weigh'd,
And in his Tongue the Law of kindness sway'd.
[30]
Learned he was beyond the common Size,
Befriended much by Nature in his Wit,
And Temper, (Sweet, Sedate, Ingenious, Wise)
And (which crown'd all) he was Heav'ens Favourite;
On whom the God of all Grace did command,
And show' [...] down Blessings with a lib'eral hand.
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[31]Wise He, not wily, was; Grave, not Morose;
Not stiffe, but steady; Seri'ous, but not Sowre;
Concern'd for all, as if he had no Foes;
(Strange if he had!) and would not wast an Hour.
Thoughtful and Active for the common good:
And yet his own place wisely understood.
[32]
Nothing could make him stray from Duty; Death
Was not so frightful to him, as Omission
Of Ministerial work; he fear'd no breath
Infecti'ous, i'th' discharge of his Commission.
Rather than run from's work, he chose to dy,
Boldly to run on Death, than duty fly.
[33]
(Cruel Disease! that didst (like High-way-men)
Assault the honest Trav'eller in his way,
And rob dear Shepard of his life (Ah!) then,
When he was on the Road, where Duty lay.
Forbear, bold Pen! 'twas God that took him thus,
To give him great Reward, and punish us.)
[34]
Zealous in God's cause, but meek in his own;
Modest of Nature, bold as any Lion,
Where Consc'ience was concern'd: and there were none
More constant Mourners for afflicted Sion:
So gene'ral was his care for th'Churches all,
His Spirit seemed Apostolical.
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[35]Large was his Heart, to spend without regret,
Rejoycing to do good: not like those Moles
That root i'th' Earth, or roam abroad, to get
All for themselves (those sorry, narrow Souls!)
But He, like th'Sun (i'th' Center, as some say)
Diffus'd his Rayes of Goodness every way.
[36]
He breath'd Love, and pursu'd Peace in his day,
As if his Soul were made of Harmony:
Scarce ever more of Goodness crouded say
In such a piece of frail Mortality.
Sure Father Wilsons genuine Son was he,
New-England's Paul had such a Timothy.
[37]
No Slave to th'Worlds grand Idols; but he flew
At Fairer Quarries, without stooping down
To Sublunary prey: his great Soul knew
Ambition none, but of the Heave'nly Crown.
Now he hath won it, and shall wear't with Honour,
Adoring Grace, and God in Christ, the Donour.
[38]
A Friend to Truth, a constant Foe to Errour,
Pow'erful i'th' Pulpit, and sweet in converse,
To weak ones gentle, to th'Profane a Terrour.
Who can his vertues, and good works rehearse?
The Scripture Bishops-Character read o're,
Say this was Shepards: what need I say more?
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[39]I say no more, let them that can declare
His rich and rare endowments, paint this Sun,
With [...] its dazling Rayes: But I despair,
Hopeless by [...] and to see it done.
They that can Shepards goodness well display,
Must be as good as he: But who are they?
[40]
See where our Sister Charlstown sits and Moans!
Poor Widowed Charlstown! all in Dust, in Tears!
Mark how she wrings her hands! hear how she groans!
See how she weeps! what sorrow like to hers!
Charlstown, that might for joy compare of late
With all about her, now looks desolate.
[41]
As you have seen some Pale, Wan, Ghastly look,
When grisly Death, that will not be said nay,
Hath seiz'd all for it self, Possession took,
And turn'd the Soul out of its house of Clay:
So Visag'd is poor Charlstown at this day;
Shepard, her very Soul, is torn away.
[42]
Cambridge groans under this so heavy cross,
And Sympathizes with her Sister dear;
Renews her Griefs afresh for her old loss
Of her own Shepard, and drops many a Tear.
Cambridge and Charlstown now joint Mourners are,
And this tremendous loss between them share.
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[43]Must Learnings Friend (Ah! worth us all) go thus▪
That Great Support to Harvards Nursery!
Our Fellow (that no Fellow had with us)
Is gone to Heave'ns great University.
Our's now indeed's a lifeless Corporation,
The Soul is fled, that gave it Animation!
[44]
Poor Harvard's Sons are in their Mourning Dress:
Their sure Friend's gone! their Hearts have put on Mourning;
Within their Walls are Sighs, Tears, Pensiveness;
Their new Foundations dread an overturning.
Harvard! where's such a fast Friend lost to thee?
Unless thy great Friend, LEVERET, it be.
[45]
We must not with our greatest Soveraign strive,
Who dare find fault with him that is most High?
That hath an absolute Prerogative,
And doth his pleasure: none may ask him, why?
We're Clay-lumps, Dust-heaps, nothings in his sight:
The Judge of all the Earth doth always right.
[46]
Ah! could not Prayers and Tears prevail with God
Was there no warding off that dreadful Blow!
And was there no averting of that Rod!
Must Shepard dy! and that good Angel go!
[...] (more than our hairs)
[...] our Prayers.
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[47]See what our sins have done! what Ruines wrought:
And how they have pluck'd out our very eyes!
Our sins have slain our Shepard! we have bought,
And dearly paid for, our Enormities.
Ah Cursed sins! that strike at God, and kill
His Servants, and the Blood of Prophets spill.
[48]
As you would loath the Sword that's warm and red,
As you would hate the hands that are embru'd
I'th' Hearts-blood of your dearest Friends: so dread,
And hate your sins; Oh! let them be pursu'd:
Revenges take on bloody sins: for there's
No Refuge-City for these Murtherers.
[49]
In vain we build the Prophets Sepulchers,
In vain bedew their Tombs with Tears, when Dead;
In vain bewail the Deaths of Ministers,
Whilest Prophet-killing sins are harboured.
Those that these Murth'erous Traitors savour, hide;
Are with the blood of Prophets deeply di'ed
[50]
New-England! know thy Heart-plague▪ feel this blow;
A blow that sorely wounds both Head and Heart,
A blow that reaches All, both, high and low,
A blow that may be felt in every part.
Mourn that this Great Man's faln in Israel:
Lest it be said, with him New-England fell!
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[51]Farewel, Dear Shepard! Thou art gone before,
Made free of Heaven, where thou shalt sing loud Hymns
Of High triumphant Praises evenmore,
In the sweet Quire of Saints and Seraphims.
Lord! look on us here, clogg'd with sin and clay,
And we, through Grace, shall be [...] happy as they.
[52]
My Dearest, Inmost, Bosome Friend is Gone!
Gone is my sweet Companion, Soul's delight!
Now in an Huddling Croud I'm all alone,
And almost could bid all the World Goodnight:
Blest be my Rock! God lives: Oh let him be,
As He is All, so All in All to me.
The Bereaved, Sorrowful Urian Oakes.