AN ELEGY Upon the much lamented Death of the most Reverend Divine HENRY WILKINSON, D. D. Late CANNON of CHRIST-CHURCH in OXFORD; and since Preacher of the Gospel in London, who died the 5th of June, 1675.  

LEt's haste to Jordan's banks, from whence not far,  
Elijah (mounted in his fiery Carr  
Drawn by swift Seraphime) doth cut his way  
Through Airy Fiery Regions, without stay  
At the Olympic houses; till he comes  
Unto the Pearly Gates, and A●●re Rooms  
Prepared for him by the King of Kings,  
Where to the Lamb he Hallelujah sings.  
But let's come down again to Jordan's brook,  
And while he climbs, on our Elijah look:  
And when our sorrows want a briny Tear,  
Our Eyes may now take in fresh water there:  
Let them upon a Sea of Tears hoist sail,  
And let them leak, and drown too; let a gale  
Of Sighs fill our Soul's wings, and make them soar  
After this Saint, unto his Heavenly shore.  
Methinks I hear the Choir of Angels cry,  
Welcome blest Soul unto our company  
Innumerable; Just Spirits, (every one  
Made perfect,) cry, Make room for Wilkinson.  
Ash, Bridge, Pearce, Caryl, Whitaker, and Strong,  
Vines, Venning, Calamy, and Love (among  
The Martyrs) Jenaway, congratulate  
Their Benjamin, approaching Heaven's gate.  
Methinks I see them circling round the Throne,  
Spectators, while Jehovah's hand doth crown  
This Victor with triumphant bays of Glory,  
Insured to him on Earth in Scripture-story.  
Doth not his Treble Soul Heaven's Choir advance,  
By adding a new Song, whilst with a glance  
He takes a prospect of his acted Scene;  
On this World's Theatre, his Soul again  
Re-acts, and Comments on his ended days,  
(To us a Text) and now admires the rays  
Of Grace, Truth, Wisdom, Goodness, Power, and Love,  
Commenced here, there perfected by Jove.  
The time is ended of the dark Eclipse,  
Now, now, he clearly sees th' Apocalyps,  
One minute now, of Knowledge gives him more  
In Mysteries, than scores of years before.  
But where now am I gone! return my Muse,  
Come view his life, his Enochisme peruse.  
Hath he not for his Lord spent, and been spent?  
Come see in every place his Monument.  
Oxford! Produce thy high prized Pearls, thy Gold,  
(Such as the Indies, Guiny, never told)  
Which from Heaven's Factory, our Merchant brought  
And found for thee before 'twas by thee sought.  
Athens should not have Shipped him from her Port,  
Nor the Cathedral from that Royal Fort,  
Which he so stoutly Manned, against th' attack  
Of Romish Monsters while he drove them back.  
London! Doth not thy Walls yet Echo from  
His Trumpet? Hath not his Alarm come  
Into thy Soul? Doth not this Aaron's Bell  
Yet ring within thy Ears? Let Spitals Cell  
Bear witness of his warning piece; he fired  
Upon our Lusts, which guilt and wrath acquired.  
Can we forget his winged Soul, that went  
After, when his loud cries to Heaven were sent?  
As if he longed to know what Heaven decreed,  
That he the News might bring to Jacob's Seed.  
Cannot the Watch-Towers where th' Prophet stood,  
Bear witness of that over flowing flood  
Of wrath (from the Apocalypse of John  
By him foretold) to come on Albion?  
How did his working Heart, in every word  
Breathe out itself? How did the Spirit's Sword  
(Brandished in his skilful hand) help on  
Sin, Satan's, Death's last Execution?  
He Preached, as if immediately from God  
He came; he Prayed as if in's presence stood.  
A David's Zeal, a Moses Meekness, Job's  
Still Patience, his Lord Christ Royal robes  
Of Holiness, did splendidly array  
This glorious Saint, sit for his Wedding day;  
What shall I say! him shall I dare to call  
Henry the First for his Memorial.