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,  
Disordered as the Passions that I feel,  
To groan this Loss: A Loss so near, so great!  
A Loss so Universal; so Complete!  
A Loss which scarce admits of a Relief;  
The deepest, sensiblest, sagacious Grief,  
Can't reach to its unfathomed 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 testify.  
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:  
Itself diffused, 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 rejoiced, too, in his Light a while;  
Who now their Loss, as well as we, bewail.  
To Neighbours Courteous: When their Wants but cried,  
Relief from Purse, and Counsel, not denied.  
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 repaired 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 pursued,  
Had not the Blessing Oil and Meal renewed.  
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 Stomaches, entertain:  
He judged them not sufficiently well fed,  
Till he had offered 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 always ready find:  
How wide an Hand; how bountiful a Mind!  
How noble, large, and general Soul he had?  
He loved the Good, and pitied all the Bad:  
O'er whom he wept: With pressing Eagerness,  
He begged and wooed, 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 Hell's Eternal Fires;  
Thought none scarce Born, till they had changed their State;  
Nor well his Own, until Regenerate.  
Hence with such Pains, Instructions, Prayers, and Tears,  
He sowed, and watered, all their tender Years.  
And when that Distance stopped his Vocal Call,  
He breathed his Soul, in Letters, to them All.  
So Teaching, Wooeing, Charming, so Divine!  
The Father full appeared in every Line.  
Nor did he, altogether, plough on Steel;  
Many the Answers of his Prayers feel.  
'Tis hoped the rest will feed yet, tho' on Crumbs:  
If not; What dismal, howling Reckoning comes?  
No Vengeance so uneasy to endure,  
As that, which slighted Counsels do procure.  
But still, within his special Love and Care,  
His spiritual 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 Ways;  
Spared not his Body under great Decays.  
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 subdued;  
His Master's Will, unweariedly pursued.  
What ever wandering Paths, that others trod,  
He kept the Way, and wrought the Work of God.  
To various Prisons, cast for several Years;  
Insulted over 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;  
Robbed and stripped bare; by various Losses tossed.  
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 Unconcerned, he viewed  
Himself thus served; his Substance hacked and hewed.  
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 perfumed the Cross.  
His Strength, and Comforts, weighed his Labours down:  
ponderous his Load, more ponderous 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 poise his Loss, nor Miracles forborn:)  
His Earth was healed of all her ancient Curse;  
The Sums he gave for Christ to re-imburse:  
The Clods, divinely, bid their Strength release;  
The Earth entombed Ten Thousand fold Increase.  
And when the Earth, to the whole Land, was wild;  
To him, alone, was easy, kind, and mild.  
And tho' pale Famine threatened 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, bowed, revered their God,  
And offer to his Servant all their Load.  
The Miracle, like nimble Lightning, flew,  
And filled all Tongues with things so great, so new.  
The Good rejoiced; 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 swelled, for him that Miracles came down;  
Tho' Praised his God for wondrous Favours 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 lived the Worthy, loved by God and Man;  
His Fruitful Years thus to their Period ran.  
No Day, nor Hour, passed 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 rend.  

Death spied the 'vantage; crept a conqueror in;  
On his spent Vitals preys and preys again:  
The Fort demolishes; which he did win:   
Invades the Seat of Life, with every Dart;  
And very busy 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 egged him to be free,  
As Prisoners at the Point of Liberty.  
Impatient, urging, weary of Delay:  
Thus longed his Soul to leave its House of Clay.  
Yet murmured not; thought his Lord's Time the best:  
Tho' tired; with Patience, vaited for his Rest.  
His humble Thoughts still judged all things too Good;  
Whether it were his Physic, or his Food.  
Praised 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 Seraphic Song of Love.  
His Joys were solid, and no idle Dreams:  
As he did, warns us to avoid Extremes.  
Blessings, when here possessed, (our Nature's such)  
We prise too little; when they're gone, too much.  
His Soul released, flew up to Jesus' Arms;  
Where now secure from Sorrow, Sin, or Harms:  
Encompassed round with unconceived Bliss:  
(Hope turned to Vision; Faith, Fruition is.)  
Is perfected, and made completely 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, Crowned;  
In Streams profound, of endless Pleasures drowned.  
With Voice Angelic, 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 possessed:  
Nor for yourselves 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 spiritual 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 excel:  
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 Upright 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?