AN ELEGY 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 layeth 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. To the Reader. (1) REader! I am no Poet: but I grieve! Behold here, what that passion can do! That forced 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 ails, To tune and place their sorrows and complaints In Rhythm and Verse! He that his crosses wails Indeed, would vent his griefs without restraints. To tie our grief to numbers, measures, feet, Is not to let it lose, 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 Curbed, and rein'd-in by measured Poetry. (4) Stop, stop my Pen! lest Israel's singer sweet Should be condemned, 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 Elegiac Knell, Rung out his dolours, when dear Jona'than fell. (5) No matter what's the trifling Poets Use, Th' Imperious Law of custom we deride: We have Diviner Warrant to produce, The Sovereign, Sacred Poet is our guide. He wept his Friend in verse: then let us try, Now Shepard's fallen, to write his Elegy. AN ELEGY 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 Poetic Rage, To vent my Griess, 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. [3] And could my Pen ingeniously distil The purest Spirits of a sparkling wit In rare conceits, the quintessence of skill In Elegiac Strains; none like to it: I should think all too little to condole The fatal loss (to us) of such a Soul▪ [4] Can I take highest Flights of Fancy, foar Alost; 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 lose reined Careers of Poetry, The celebrated Sisters may be gone; We need no Mourning women's Elegy, No forced, affected, artificial Tone▪ Great and good Shepard's Dead! Ah! this alone Will set our eyes abroach, dissolve a stone▪ [6] Poetic Raptures are of no esteem, Daring Hyperboles have here no place, Luxuriant Wits on such a copious Theme, Would shame themselves, and blush to show their face Here's worth enough to overmatch the skill Of the most stately Poet laureate's Quill. [7] Exube'rant Fancies useless here I deem, Transcendent virtue scorns feigned Eulogies: He that gives Shepard half his due, may seem, If Strangers hear it, to Hyperbolise. Let him that can, tell what his virtues were, And say, this Star moved 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 their hearts, They'll say, He merits an Immortal Fame. When Shepard is forgot, all must conclude, Th●● is prodigious ingratitude. [9] But live he shall in many a grateful Breast, Where he hath reared himself a Monument, A Monument more stately than the best, On which Immensest Treasures have been spent. Can you but into th'Hearts of thousands peep▪ There would you read his Name engraven deep. [10] Oh! that my head were Waters, 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 Shepherds Grave. (11) Not that he needs our Tears: for he hath dropped His measure full; not one Tear more shall fall Into God's Bottle from his eyes; Death stopped That watercourse, his sorrows ending all▪ He Fears, he Cares, he Sighs, he Weeps no more: he's passed all storms, Arrived at th'wished Shoar. [12] Dear Shepard could we reach so high a strain Of pure Seraphic l●ve, as to divest Ourselves, and love, of self-respects, thy gain Would joy us, though it cross our interest. Then would we silence all complaints with this, Our Dearest Friend is doubtless g●ne to Bliss. (13) Ah! but the Lesson's hard, thus to deny Our own dear selves, to part with such a Loan Of Heaven (in time of such pecessity) 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. [15] We shall not summon bold Astrologers, To tell us what the Stars say in the case, (Those Cousin-germen 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 woeful word! to say he was) Our wrestling Israel, second unto none, The man that stood i'th' g●p, to keep the pass, To stop the Troops of Judgements ●ushing on. This Man the honour had to hold the hand Of an incensed God against our Land. [17] When such a Pillar's fallen (Oh such an one!) When such a glorious, shining Light's put▪ out, When Chariot and Horsemen thus are gone; Well may we fear some Downfall, 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 Ambassador is called home. So Earthly Gods (Kings) when they War intent, Call home their Ministers, and Treaties end. [19] Oh for the Raptures, Transports, Inspirations Of Israel's Singers, when his Jon'athan's Fall So tuned his mourning Harp! what Lamentations Then would I make for Shepherds Funeral How truly can I say, as well as He? My Dearest Brother I'm distressed for thee. [20] How Lovely, Worthy, Peerless, in my view? How Precious, Pleasant hast thou been to me? How Learn●●, Prudent, Pious, Grave, and True? And what a ●●●●ful Friend? who like to thee? Mine Eye's desire is vanished: who can tell Where lives my dearest Shepard's Parallel? [21] 'Tis strange to think: but we may well believe, That not a few of different Persuasions From this great Worthy, do now truly grieve I'th' Mourning crowd, and join their Lamentations. Such Powers Magnetic had He to draw to Him The very Hearts, and Souls, of all that knew Him▪ [22] Art, Nature, Grace, in Him were all combined To show the World a matchless Paragon: In whom of Radiant Virtues no less shined, Than a whole Constellation: but he's gone! he's gone alas! Down in the Dust must lie As much of this rare Person as could die. [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, J'm very sure. [24] If Holy Life, and Deeds of Charity, If Grace illustrious, and Virtue tri'ed, If modest Carriage, rare Humility, Can have bribed Death, good Shepard had not died. Oh! but inexorable Death attacks The best Men, and promiscu'ous havoc makes. [25] Come tell me, Critics, have you ever known Such Zeal, so tempered well with moderation? Such Prudence, and such Inno'cence 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 Father's Glory call their own? Our Shepherd justly might to this pretend, (His Blessed Father was of high Renown, Both England: speak him great, admire his Name) But his own pers [onal worth's a better claim. [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 Herald A double portion of his Father's 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 see▪) And ruled by Love and Wisdom, more than Fear▪ The Muses, and the Graces too, conspired To set forth this Rare Piece, to be admired. [29] He governed well the Tongue (that busy thing, Unruly, Lawless and Pragmatical) Gravely Reserved, in Speech not lavishing, Neither too sparing, nor too liberal. His Words were few, well seasoned, wisely weighed▪ And in his Tongue the Law of kindness swayed. [30] Learned he was beyond the common Size▪ Befriended much by Nature in his Wit, And Temper, (Sweet, Sedate, Ingenious, Wise) And (which crowned all) he was Heav'ens' Favourite▪ On whom the God of all Grace did command, And ●how'● down Blessings with a lib'eral hand. [31] Wise He, not wily, was; Grave, not Morose; Not stiff, but steady; Seri'ous, but not Sour; Concerned for all, as if he had no Foes; (Strange if he had!) and would not waste 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 feared no breath Infecti'ous, i'th' discharge of his Commission. Rather than run from's work, he chose to die, 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 Shepherd 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 Conscience▪ ience was concerned: and there were none More constant Mourners for afflicted Zion: So gene'ral was his care for th'▪ Church's all, His Spirit seemed Apostolical. [35] Large was his Heart, to spend without regret, Rejoicing 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' Centre, as some say) Diffused his Rays of Goodness every way. [36] He breathed Love, and pursued Peace in his day, As if his Soul were made of Harmony: Scarce ever more of Goodness crowded lay In such a piece of frail Mortality. Sure Father wilson's 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 Error, Pow'erful i'th' Pulpit, and sweet in converse, To weak ones gentle, to th'Profane a Terror. Who can his virtues, and good works rehearse? The Scripture Bishops-Character read o'er, Say this was Shepherds: what need I say more? [39] I say no more: let them that can declare His rich and rare endowments, paint this Sun, With all its dazzling Rays: But I despair, Hopeless by any hand to see it done. They that can Shepherds goodness well display, Must be as good as he: But who are they? [40] See where our Sister Charlstown sits and Means! Poor Widowed Chaarlstown! all in Dust, in Tears! Mark how she wrings her hands! hear how she gro●●●! 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 seized all for itself, Possession took, And turned the Soul out of its house of Clay: So Visaged 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 Shepherd, sad drops many a Tear. Cambridge and Charlstown now joint Mourners are, And this tremendous loss between them share.