A poem dedicated to the memory of the Reverend and excellent Mr. Urian Oakes, the late pastor to Christ's flock and præsident of Harvard Colledge in Cambridge ... Mather, Cotton, 1663-1728. 1682 Approx. 30 KB of XML-encoded text transcribed from 11 1-bit group-IV TIFF page images. Text Creation Partnership, Ann Arbor, MI ; Oxford (UK) : 2003-07 (EEBO-TCP Phase 1). A50154 Wing M1142 ESTC R31243 11796594 ocm 11796594 49323 This keyboarded and encoded edition of the work described above is co-owned by the institutions providing financial support to the Early English Books Online Text Creation Partnership. This Phase I text is available for reuse, according to the terms of Creative Commons 0 1.0 Universal . The text can be copied, modified, distributed and performed, even for commercial purposes, all without asking permission. Early English books online. (EEBO-TCP ; phase 1, no. A50154) Transcribed from: (Early English Books Online ; image set 49323) Images scanned from microfilm: (Early English books, 1641-1700 ; 1487:42) A poem dedicated to the memory of the Reverend and excellent Mr. Urian Oakes, the late pastor to Christ's flock and præsident of Harvard Colledge in Cambridge ... Mather, Cotton, 1663-1728. [4], 16 p. Printed for John Ratcliff, Boston in New-England : 1682. "Mather's first published work" cf. NUC pre-1956 imprints. Imperfect: cropped with some loss of print. Reproduction of original in the Harvard University Library. Created by converting TCP files to TEI P5 using tcp2tei.xsl, TEI @ Oxford. Re-processed by University of Nebraska-Lincoln and Northwestern, with changes to facilitate morpho-syntactic tagging. Gap elements of known extent have been transformed into placeholder characters or elements to simplify the filling in of gaps by user contributors. 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Copies of the texts have been issued variously as SGML (TCP schema; ASCII text with mnemonic sdata character entities); displayable XML (TCP schema; characters represented either as UTF-8 Unicode or text strings within braces); or lossless XML (TEI P5, characters represented either as UTF-8 Unicode or TEI g elements). Keying and markup guidelines are available at the Text Creation Partnership web site . eng Oakes, Urian, 1631-1681. American poetry-Colonial period, ca. 1660-1775. 2003-02 TCP Assigned for keying and markup 2003-03 Aptara Keyed and coded from ProQuest page images 2003-04 Mona Logarbo Sampled and proofread 2003-04 Mona Logarbo Text and markup reviewed and edited 2003-06 pfs Batch review (QC) and XML conversion A POEM Dedicated to the Memory OF The Reverend and Excellent Mr. VRIAN OAKES the late Pastor to Christ's Flock , and Praesident of Harvard-Colledge , in Cambridge ▪ Who was gathered to his People on 25 d 5 mo 16●● In the fifty'th Year of his Age. 1 Sam. 25. 1. And SAMUEL dyed , an● the Israelites were gathered together , and Lame●●●● him . Scindentur Vestes , Gemmae frangentur , et Aurum Carmina quam tribuunt Fama perennis erit . O 〈…〉 Magna dabit qui magna potest ; mihi parva potent● Parvaque poscenti , parva dedisse sat est . 〈…〉 BOSTON IN NEW-ENGLAND , Printed for Iohn Ratcliff . 1682. TO THE READER WOrthies to Praise is a Praise-worthy thing Christ did it ; and will do it ! And to Sing ▪ The Elogyes of Saints departed in The Rhythm of Elegyes , has alwayes been Esteemed Reason ! David bids me go My Christian Reader ! and like him do so . Cotton Embalms great Hooker ; Norton Him ▪ And Norton's Herse do's Poet-Wilson trim With Verses : Mitchel writes a Poem on The Death of Wilson ; And when Mitchel's gone ▪ Shepard with fun'ral Lamentations gives Honour to Him : and at his Death receives The like from the [ like-Maro ] Lofty Strain Of admirable Oakes ! I should be vain To thrust into that gallant Chorus : Pride Ne'er made mee such an Icharus : I cry'd Of good Exemples [ Ahimaaz his Thought ] How if I should run after them ? And brought These as a Pattern , and a Plea for what I do ; that my cross Reader blame me not . But why so late ? my Naenia's some will deem Both out of Time , and Tune ! To some I seem Grief's Resurrection to essay ; and bee Iust like the Trojans who came late to see And sorrow with Tiberius ! — Only this Shall be Reply'd ! The fond Bookseller is Now guilty of this Paper 's ravishment When long supprest : Give him thy Discontent ! Since Oakes ( as Homer ) has all Places Claim ▪ Let Boston too forget its Anagram ! Memoirs of the Life and Worth ▪ Lamentations for the Death , and Loss of the every way admirable Mr. VRIAN OAKES . WEep with me , Reader ! Never Poet had His Quill employ'd upon a Theme so sa● As what just Providence ( Grief grumble not ) Do's with black Warrant Press mee to ! O what ? This ! OAKES is dead ! One of the bittrest Pil● ( Compounded of three Monosyllables ) That could have been dispensed ! Absalom Sure felt not more Distress , Death , Danger , come With the three Darts of Ioab ! — Blest Shade ! an Vniversal Tax of Sorrow Thy Country ows thee ! Ah! we need not borrow The Praefica's : Say , Oakes is dead ! and there ! There is enough to squeese a briny Tear From the most flinty Flint : Once at the Blow Of Moses , from a Rock a Stream did flow ; But look ! th' Almightye's Rod now smites us home Oh! what Man won't a Mourner now become ? Dear Saint ! I cannot but thy Herse bedew With dropping of some Fun'ral Tears ! I Rue Thy Death ! I must , My Father ! Father ! say , Our Chariots and our Horsemen where are they ? I the dumb Son of Craesus 'fore mine Eyes Have sett , and will cry when my Father dyes . Oh! but a Verse to wait upon thy Grave , A Verse our Custome , and thy Friends will have : And must I brue my Tears ? ah ! shall I fetter My Grief , by studying for to mourn in Metre ? Must too my cloudy Sorrows rain in Tune , Distilling like the softly Showrs of Iune ? Alas ! My Ephialtes takes me ! See 't ! I strive to run , but then I want my feet . What shall I do ? Shall I go invocate The Muses to mine aid ? No ▪ That I hate ! The sweet New-England-Poet rightly said , It is a most Vnchristian Vse and Trade Of some that Christians would be thought . If I Call'd Help , the Muses mother Memory Would be enough : He that Remembers well The Vse and Loss of Oakes , will grieve his fill . Ih'd rather pray , that Hee , in whose just Eyes The Death of his dear Saints most preciose is , And Hee who helped David to bewail His Ion'than , would not my Endeavours fail . A sprightly Effort of Poetick Fire Would e'en Transport mee to a mad Desire : How could I wish , Oh! that the nimble Sun Of thy short Life before thy Day was done Might backward Ten Degrees have moved ! or Oh! that thy Corps might but have chanced for To have been buried near Elisha's bones ! Oh! that the Hand which rais'd the Widows Sons Would give thee to thy Friends again ! But , Fy ! That Passion 's vain ! To sob , Why didst thou dy ? Is but an Irish Note : Death won't Restore His Stolen Goods till Time shall be no more . Shall I take what a Prologue Homer hath Lett mee Relate the Heavenly Powers Wrath ? Or shall I rather join with Ieremie , And o're our great and good Iosiah sigh , O that my Head were waters , and mine Eyes A fountain were , that Hadadrimmon's Cryes Might bubble from mee ! O that Day and Night For the Slain of my People weep I might ! Ah! why delay I ? Reader , step with mee , And what is for thee on Grief's Table see Memoria Praeteritorum is The Dish I call thee to : Come taste of this . Oakes vvas ! Ah! miserable word ! But what Hee vvas , Let Never , Never be forgot . Beleeve mee once , It were a worthy thing Of 's Life and Worth a large Account to bring To publick Vievv , for general Benefit . I would essay ( with Leave , Good Reader ) it , So far as feet will carry mee ▪ but know it From first to last , Grief never made good Poet. Hee that lasht with a Rod could versify , Attain'd , and could pretend far more than I ! Short was thy Life ! Sweet Saint ! & quickly run Thy Race ! Thy Work was , oh ! how quickly done ! Thy Dayes were ( David's measure ) but a Span ; Five Tens of Years roll'd since thy Life began . Thus I remember a Greek Poet Rhimes , They whom God Loves are wont to dy betimes . Thus Whit●ker , Perkins , Preston , Men of Note , Ay! many such , Never to fifty got . And thus ( Rachel New-England ! ) many Seers Have left us in the akme of their Years . Good Soul ! Thy Iesus who did for thee dy , In Heaven longed for thy Company . And let thy Life be measur'd by thy Deeds , Not by thy Years ; Thy Age strait nothing needs . Divert , My Pen ! Run through the Zodiac Of Oakes his Life : And cause I knowledge lack Of most Occurrents , let mee now and then Snatch at a Passage worthy of a Pen. Our Mother England , ev'n a Village there ( Fuller , insert it ! ) did this Worthy bear . Over the Ocean in his Infancy His Friends with him into New-England fly : Here , while a lad , almost a miracle ( As I have heard his Aged Father tell ) Sav'd him from drowning in a River : Hee Would ( guess ) a Miracle and Moses bee . Now did Sweet Nature in him so appear A Gentlewoman once cry'd out , If ere Good Nature could bring unto Heaven , then Those wings would thither carry Vrian . Prompt Parts , and early Pitty now made Men say of him , what once observers said Of great Iohn Baptist , and of Ambrose too , To what an one will this strange Infant grow ? Her Light and Cup did happy Harvard give Unto him ; and from her he did receive His Two Degrees : ( A double Honour to Thee ( Harvard ! Own it ! ) did by this accrue ! ) So being furnisht with due burnisht Tools The Armour and the Treasure of the Schools , To Temple-work he goes : I need not tell How he an Hiram , or Bezaleel Did there approve himself ; I 'le only add Roxbury his first-fruits ( first Sermon ) had ▪ Some things invite : Hee back to England goes ; With God and Man hee there in favour growes ; But whilst he lives in that Land , Tichfield cryes Come over , Sir , and help us ! He complyes : The Starr moves thither ! There the Orator Continu'd charming sinful mortals for To close with a sweet Jesus : Oh! he woo'd , He Thundred : Oh! for their eternal good How did he bring the Promises , and how Did he discharge flashes of Ebal ? Now Hee held Love's golden Scepter out before The Humble Soul ; Now made the Trumpet roar Fire , Death , and Hell against Impenitent Desp'rates , untill hee made their hearts relent . There did hee merit Sibs's Motto , I Iust like a Lamp , with lighting others dy . Ah! like a Silk-worm , his own bowels went To serve his Hearers , while he soundly spent His Spirits in his Labours . O but there He must not dy ( except Death Civil ) Here ( Why mayn't we Sigh it ! here dark Bartholmew This gallant and heroic Witness slew . Silenc't he was ! not buried out of sight ! A worthy Gentleman do's him invite Unto him ; and like Obadiah , hide Him , dear to them with whom he did reside , Finding his Prayers and Presence to produce An Obed-Edom's blessing on the House . A Spirit of great Life from God do's enter Within a while into him : Hee do's venture To stand upon his feet : Hee prophesy's ; And to a Congregation Preacher is , Join'd with a loving Collegue ; who will not Be buried , till Symmons be forgot . But our New-England Cambridge wants him , and Sighs , " Of my Sons none takes me by the hand , " Now Mitchel's gone ! Oh! where 's his parallel ? " Call my Child Vrian ! Friendly Strangers tell " An OAKE of my own breed in England is , " That will support mee Pillar-like ; and this " Must be resolv'd ; I 'le Pray and Send ! Agreed ! Messengers go ! and calling Council , speed ! The good Stork over the Atlantic came To nourish and cherish his Aged Dam. Welcome ! great Prophet ! to New-England shore ! Thy feet are beautiful ! A number more Of Men like thee with us would make us say , The Moral of More 's fam'd Vtopia Is in New-England ! yea , ( far greater ! ) wee Should think wee Twisse's guess accomplisht see , When New Ierusalem comes down , the Seat Of it , the wast America will bee 't . Cambridge ! thy Neighbours must congratulate Thy Fate ! Oh! where can thy Triumvirate Meet with its Mate ? A Shepard ! Mitchel ! then An Oakes ! These Chrysostoms , these golden Men , Have made thy golden Age ! That fate is thine ( To bee blest with the Sun 's perpetual Shine ) What Sylvius sais of Rhodes . Sure thou mayst call Thy Name Capernaum ! But oh ! the fall Of that enlightened Place wee 'l humbly pray Dear Lord ! Keep Cambridge from it ! — But Quill ! where fly'st thou ? Let the Reader know Cambridge some years could this brite Iewel show , Yet here a Quartane Ague does arrest The Churches Comfort , & the Countryes Rest. But this ( Praise Mercy ) found some Ague-frighter , Hee mends , and his Infirmity grows lighter , Ev'n that his dear Orestes smil'd , So small Your Illness , you 'd as good have none at all . Well! the poor Colledge faints ! Harvard almost ( An Amnesty cryes ' st ! ) gives up the ghost ! The branches dwindle ! But an OAK so near May cherish them ! 'T was done ! The gloomy fear Of a lost Colledge was dispell'd ! The Place , The Learning , the Discretion , and the Grace Of that great Charles , who long since slept & dy'd Lov'd , and Lamented , worthy Oakes supply'd . His Nurse he suckles ; and the Ocean now Refunds what th' Earth in Rivers did bestow . Pro Tempore ( a sad Prolepsiis ) was For a long time his Title ; but just as Wee had obtain'd a long'd for Alteration , And fixt him in the Praesident's firm Station , The wrath of the Eternal wields a blow At which my Pen is gastred ! — But Up ! — Lord ! wee 're undone ! — Nay ! Up ! and Try ! Heart ! Vent thy grief ! Ease Sorrow with a Sigh ! Lett 's hear the matter ! Write de Tristibus ! Alas ! Enough ! — Death hath bereaved us ! The Earth was parch't with horrid heat : We fea'rd The blasts of a Vast Comet 's flaming Beard . The dreadful Fire of Heaven inflames the blood Of our Elijah carrying him to God. Innumerable Sudden Deaths abound ! Our OAKES a Sudden blow laid on the ground , And gives him blessed Capel's wish , which the Letany prayes'gainst , To dy Suddenlie . The Saints hope to have the Lord's Table spread ; But with astonishment they find him dead That us'd to break the Bread of Life : O wee Deprived of our Ministers often bee At such a Season . Lord , thy Manna low In our blind Eyes we fear is wont to go ! The Man of God at the first Touch do's feel [ With a Praesage ] his Call to Heavens weal ; Hee sits himself for his last Conflict ; Saw The ghastly King of Terrors Icy claw ; Ready to grapple with him ; then he gives A Look to him who dy'd and ever lives ; The great Redeemer do's disarm the Snake ; And by the Hand his faithful Servant take , Leading him thorow Death's black Valley , till Hee brings him in his arms to Zion's Hill. Fall'n Pillar of the Church ! This Thy Translation Has turn'd our Joyes into this Lamentation ! Sweet Soul ! Disdaining any more to trade With fleshly Organs , that a Prison made , Thou' rt flown into the World of Souls , and wee Poor , stupid Mortals lose thy Companie . Thou join'st in Consort with the Happy gone , Who ( happ'er than Servants of Solomon ) Are standing round the Lamb's illustrious Throne Conversing with great Isr'el's-Holy-One . Now could I with good old Grynaeus * say " Oh! that will be a bright and gloriose Day , " When I to that Assembly come ; and am " Gone from a world of guilt , filth , sorrow , shame ! I read how Swan-like Cotton joy'd in Thought , That unto Dod , and such he should be brought . How Bullinger deaths grim looks could not fright Because t would bring him to the Patriarchs Sight . ( Well might it be so ! Heathen Socrates In hopes of Homer , Death undaunted sees . ) Who knows but the Third Heaven may sweeter be Thou Citizen of it ! ( dear Oakes ! ) for thee ? Sure what of Calvin Beza said ; and what Of thy forerunner Mitchel , Mather wrote , I 'le truly add , Now Oakes is dead , to mee Life will less sweet , and Death less bitter bee . Lord ! Lett us follow ! — Nay ! Then , Good Reader ! Thou and I must try To Tread his Steps ! Hee walk't Exemplar'ly ! Plato would have none to be prais'd , but those Whose Praises profitable wee suppose : Oh! that I had a ready Writer's Pen , ( If not Briareus hundred Hands ! ) and then I might limn forth a Pattern . Ah! his own Fine Tongue can his own worth Describe alone That 's it I want ; and poor I ! Shan't I show Like the man , whom an Hero hired to Forbear his Verses on him ! Yet a lame Mephibosheth will scape a David's blame . Well! Reader ! Wipe thine Eyes ! & see the Man ( Almost too small a word ! ) which Cambridge can Say , I have lost ! In Name a Drusius , And Nature too ! yea a compendious Both Magazine of worth , and Follower Of all that ever great and famose were . A great Soul in a little Body . ( Add ! In a small Nutshell Graces Iliad . ) How many Angels on a Needle 's point Can stand , is thought , perhaps , a needless Point ▪ Oakes Vertues too I 'me at a loss to tell : In short , Hee was New-England's SAMUEL ; And had as many gallant Propertyes As ere an Oak had Leaves ; or Argus Eyes . A better Christian would a miracle Be thought ! From most he bore away the Bell ! Grace and good Nature were so purely mett In him , wee saw in Gold a Iewel sett . His very Name spake Heavenly ; and Hee Vir sui Nominis would alwayes bee . For a Converse with God ; and holy frame , A Noah , and an Enoch hee became . Vrian and George are Names aequivalent ; Wee had Saint George , though other Places han't . Should I say more , like him that would extol Huge Hercules , my Reader'l on me fall With such a check ; Who does dispraise him ? I Shall say enough , if his Humility Might be described . Witty Austin meant This the First , Second , and Third Ornament , Of a Right Soul , should be esteem'd . And so Our Second Moses , * Humble Dod , cry'd , Know , Iust as Humility mens Grace will bee , And so much Grace so much Humilitie . Ah! graciose Oakes , wee saw thee stoop ; wee saw In thee the Moral of good Nature's Law , That the full Ears of Corn should bend , and grow Down to the ground : Worth would sit alwayes low . And for a Gospel Minister , wee had In him a Pattern for our Tyro's ; sad ! Their Head is gone : Who ever knew a greater Student and Scholar ? or beheld a better Preacher and Praesident ? Wee look't on him As Ierom in our ( Hungry ) Bethlechem ; A perfect Critic in Philology ; And in Theology a Canaan's Spy. His Gen'ral Learning had no fewer Parts Than the Encyclopaedia of Arts : The old Say , Hee that something is in all , Nothing 's in any ; Now goes to the wall . But when the Pulpit had him ! there hee spent Himself as in his onely Element : And there hee was an Orpheus : Hee 'd e'en draw The Stones , and Trees : Austin cryes , If I saw Paul in the Pulpit , of my Three Desires None of the least ( to which my Soul aspires ) Would gratify'd and granted bee . Hee might Have come and seen 't , when OAKES gave Cambridge Light. Oakes an Vncomfortable Preacher was I must confess ! Hee made us cry , Alass ! In sad Despair ! Of what ? Of ever seeing A better Preacher while wee have a beeing . Hee ! oh ! Hee was , in Doctrine , Life , and all Angelical , and Evangelical . A Benedict and Boniface to boot , Commending of the Tree by noble Fruit. All said , Our Oakes the Double Power has Of Boanerges , and of Barnabas : Hee is a Christian Nestor ! Oh! that wee Might him among us for three Ages see ! But ah ! Hee 's gone to Sinus Abrahae . What shall I say ? Never did any spitt Gall at this Gall-less , Guile-less Dove ; nor yet Did any Envy with a cankred breath Blast him : It was I 'me sure the gen'ral Faith , Lett Oakes Bee , Say , or Do what e're he wou'd , If it were OAKES , it must be wise , true , good Except the Sect'ryes Hammer might a blow Or two , receive from Anabaptists , who Never lov'd any Man , that wrote a Line Their naught , Church-rending Cause to undermine . Yett after my Encomiastick Ink Is all run out , I must conclude ( I think ) With a Dicebam , not a Dixi ! Yea , Such a course will exceeding proper bee : The Iews , whene're they build an House , do leave Some part Imperfect , as a call to grieve For their destroy'd Ierus'lem ! I 'le do so ! I do 't ! — And now let sable Cambridge broach her Tears ! ( They forfeit their own Eyes that don't ; for here 's Occasion sad enough ! ) Your Sons pray call All Ichabod ; and Daughters , Marah ! Fall Dovvn into Sack-cloth , Dust , and Ashes ! ( To Bee senseless Now , Friends , Now ! will be to show A CRIME & BADG of Sin and Folly ! ) Try Your fruitfulness under the Ministry Of that kind Pelican , vvho spent his Blood The feed you ! Dear Saints ! Have ye got the Good You might ? And let a Verse too find the Men Who fly'd a Sermon ! Oh! Remember vvhen Sirs ! your Ezekiel was like unto A lovely Song of ( Been't deaf Adders you ) One with a pleasant Voice ! and that could play Well on an Instrument ! And i'n't the Day , ●he gloriose Day , to dawn ( ah ! yet ! ) wherein You are drawn from the Egypt-graves of Sin Compelled to come in ? For shame come in ! Nay ! Join you all ! Strive with a noble Strife , To publish both in Print ( as vvell as Life ) Your preciose Pastor's Works ! Bring them to view That vvee may Honey tast , as vvell as you . But , Lord ! What has thy Vineyard done , that thou Command'st the Clouds to rain no more ? O shevv Thy favour to thy Candlestick ! Thy Rod Hath almost broke it : Lett a Gift of God , Or a sincerely Heaven-touch't Israelite Become a Teacher in thy Peoples sight At last I vvith License Poetical ( Reader ! and thy good leave ) address to all The children of thy People ! Oh! the Name Of Vrian Oakes , Nevv-England ! does proclame SVRE I AN OAK was to thee ! Feel thy Loss ! Cry , ( Why forsaken , Lord ! ) Under the Cross ! Learn for to prize Survivers ! Kings destroy The People that Embassadors annoy . The Counsil of God's Herald , and thy Friend , [ Bee wise ! Consider well thy latter End ! ] O lay to heart ! Pray to the heavenly Lord Of th' Harvest , that ( according to his Word ) Hee vvould thrust forth his Labourers : For vvhy Should all thy Glory go , and Beauty dy Through thy default ? — — Lord ! from thy lofty Throne Look dovvn upon thy Heritage ! Lett none Of all our Breaches bee unhealed ! Lett This dear , poor Land be our Immanuel's yett ! Lett 's bee a Goshen still ! Restrain the Boar That makes Incursions ! Give us daily more Of thy All-curing Spirit from on High ! Lett all thy Churches flourish ! And supply The almost Twenty Ones , that thy Just Ire Has left without Help that their Needs require ! Lett not the Colledge droop , and dy ! O Lett The Fountain run ! A Doctor give to it ! Moses's are to th' upper Canaan gone ! Lett Ioshua's Succeed them ! goes vvhen one room ! Elijah , raise Elisha's ! Pauls become Dissolv'd ! vvith Christ ! Send Tim'thees in their Avert the Omen , that vvhen Teeth apace Fall out , No new ones should supply their place ! Lord ! Lett us Peace on this our Israel see ! And still both Hephsibah , and Beulah bee ! Then vvill thy People Grace ! and Glory ! Sing , And every Wood vvith Hallelujah's ring . N. R. Vixêre fortes ante Agamemnona Multi ; sed illachrymabiles Vrgentur ignotique longà Nocte ; carent quia Vate sacro . Hor. Non ego cuncta meis amplecti Versibus opto . Virg. — Ingens laudato Poema : ● legito ! — Call. ●ui legis ista , tuam reprehendo , si mea laudes Omnia , Stultitiam : Si nihil , Invidiam . Owen . Non possunt , Lector , multae emendare Liturae Versus hos nostros : Vna Litura potest . Martial . Advertisement . THere is to be sold by Iohn Browning , at the Corner of the Prison-Lane next the Tovvn-House , a Sermon of the late Reverend Mr. VRIAN OAKES , preached from Eccl. 9. 11. Shevving that Fortune and Chance are infallibly determined by God : By vvhich alone , it might appear that the Elogyes of him are not a vain Hyperbole ; but as it were , the Eccho of those Words which his Works speak concerning Him. Notes, typically marginal, from the original text Notes for div A50154-e990 t 〈…〉