AN ELEGY Upon the REVEREND Mr. George Gyfford, B.D. Late RECTOR of St. DUNSTAN in the EAST, LONDON.  

GYfford the Preacher's dead, one who might claim,  
Above all others, that Renowned Name;  
Who 'mongst those Reverend Bards the Pulpit grace,  
Might justly challenge chief and highest Place:  
Amongst the Church's Stars he always stood  
One of the first and greatest Magnitude;  
Fixed to his Orb, he shined still more bright,  
And not like Planets, with a borrowed Light:  
The Sun was not more constant to its way,  
Than he to's Pulpit every Sabbath Day;  
And there he did both Light and Heat dispense;  
With gentle Warmth he mixed the clearest Sense:  
His numerous Hearers who in Flocks did crowd,  
He fed with wholesome and with solid Food:  
He gave them Bread, and not a Stone to eat,  
Not painted Dainties, but substantial Meat:  
His Sermons were not like a standing Pool,  
Without all Motion, only dull and cool;  
Nor like a raging, and a storming Sea,  
All Noise and Froth, as some are used to be;  
But, like a River, strong and pure he flowed,  
Which Natural, not Artificial showed:  
The Spring was from his own Religious Head,  
Rose from himself, and not from Cisterns fed.  
Like to himself they were as to the main,  
Wise, Learned, Pious, but yet very plain.  
His Learning equalled any of the Age,  
Although he would not bring it on the Stage,  
Nor publish it in Books; his Wealth was so;  
Greater than others, tho' it made less show.  
His Life so perfect, and without a Spot,  
That Envy could not slain him with a Blot:  
The Vices which he always Preached down,  
Had he not heard of them, he had not known;  
His Virtues, if in any thing they were  
To blame, it was, that they were too severe:  
Not greater ever did in Cloisters dwell,  
The Hermit was not stricter in his Cell;  
Sober, Devout, Grave, Humble, chaste was he,  
Equal to th' Angel's Virgin Purity:  
The only fault suspected in him, was  
Not common to the Holy Tribe, alas!  
That he was Rich, but this he did take Care,  
To mend by Charity as Great as Rare;  
He ever laid apart out of his Store,  
A certain Portion due of Right to th' Poor:  
And had not Death surprised him, he had given,  
Where he had vowed it, all again to Heaven.  
His time the Church, or else his Books did spend,  
Religion and Learning were his End;  
'Tis this in short may of his Life be said,  
He always either Studied, Preached or Prayed.  
He ne'er was silent in this place before,  
But when he had laboured Thirty Years and more;  
And in the Vineyard painfully had Sweat,  
And tired himself with Working in the Heat:  
God called his Faint and Weary Soul to Rest,  
To take the Wages and Reward o'th' Blest;  
And if in Heaven a brighter Crown there be  
For Preachers, this is due, Blessed Soul, to Thee:  
If they shall shine as Stars who Souls have won,  
Thou shalt be there a Constellation.  
Thou'st saved more Souls ('tis thus the Scripture speaks,)  
And Preached more Sermons than thou'st lived Weeks:  
But thou who ne'er knewest when to leave before,  
Thy Glass is run, and thou must now give o'er;  
For now this Burning and this Shining Light,  
Is darkened and put out by fatal Night.  
When with Assiduous and double Toil  
To fast, he wasted his most precious Oil:  
Tired with too much Pains, and weary quite  
With Godly Labour, his most vigorous Spirit  
Grew Faint, and a soft Drowsiness did creep  
Upon his Nerves, and so he fell asleep.  
Such gentle slumbers which on Prophet's fell,  
When God vouchsafed to them his Mind to tell;  
In such his easy Soul did pass away,  
Which in a Heavenly Trance a while had lay:  
In Heaven he waked, and there in Ecstasy  
The Glorious Vision shall for ever see.    

This may be Printed, July 6. 1686.  
R. P.   

LONDON, Printed for Thomas Parkhurst. 1686.