Everett, Edward
^n address ... at the funeral
of Rev. John Love joy Abbot ...
Boston, 1814.

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From the Library of
SIMEON E. BALDWIN, Y '6i
Gift of his children
HELEN BALDWIN GILMAN
ROGER SHERMAN BALDWIN, Y '90
1927

AN

ADDRESS,

PBONOtlNCED, OCTOBER TWENTY-IIEST,

AT THE FXJNERAL OF

REV. JOHN LOVEJOY ABBOT,

PASTOR

OP THE FHIST CHURCH OF CHRIST IN BOSTON.

BY EDWARD EVERETT,
MIKISTBR 01* THE CHURCH," S^'RATTLE SaXTARE.
V

PUHLISHED BT HEaUES*

O fal^aceni hominum spem, fragilezaque fortunam, et inanes nostras contentiones ;
qnse in medio spalio ssepe franguntnr, et cormunt, et ante in ipso cursu obruuntj quam
portum couspicere potuerunt ! CUero De Ort^, 1* S.

BOS^TQN,
ralNTJES BY 3ICNItO£, FBAKCIB AN]; fASK£B. *k ^
1814.

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JOB Xiv, 10. MAN DIETH AND WASTETH AWAY : YEA,
MAN GIVETH UP THE GHOST, AND WHERE IS HE !

WHERE is he, that once mixed in the scenes
of life, performing its duties, and enjoying its bless
ings ? Where is he, that was so prized by many
friends, so dear to many hearts ? Where is he, that
once ministered in this house of God ? Where are
the promises, so lately made within these holy walls ;
the expectations you assembled to ratify here, the
hopes that were cherished, the vows which were paid ?
Those hopes are disappointed, those promises
are blasted. The object of so many tender interests
is removed, the centre of so many dear relations is
gone. The voice, that once spoke in this temple, is
hushed. Bereaved members of this church, your

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pastor is there. Brethren in the ministry, your
brother is there. Friends and christians, your friend
is there. Man dieth, and wasteth away : yea, he
giveth up the ghost, and where is he ?
We have assembled, my christian friends, to take
a becoming notice of that providence of God, which
has hung this church in mourning. Death, which
is always solemn, is clothed with new terrors, when it
strikes the objects of public interest and regard ; and
the voice of God, which is ever to be heard with
trembling reverence, now speaks to us in a tone of
louder, deeper warning. It is to hear this voice, that
you have come together ; to learn a lesson of mor
tality in the presence of death, and to catch some
breathings of desire for better things, while you bend
over the poor remains of perishing nature.
I know not, brethren of this church, with what
words to address you. My heart is sadly constrained.
The air of death, that fills this house, oppresses me, and
I would fain dwell, in silent meditation, on this scene.
The custom of our fathers has united our churches
in the offices of religion," and the providence of God
has ratified the union, by a solemn alternation in the
offices of sympathy. I am now come to repay your

condolence with the sorrows at the departure of my
predecessor. You remember his solemn and affec
tionate address over the ashes of your beloved
Emerson. " I find," said he, upon that mournful
occasion, " I find, in looking over the list of our
predecessors, the names of Colman, Foxcroft, Coop
er, Chauncy, Clarke, Thacherj and now, alas, Emer
son, who have been successively called to perform
this last service, before they themselves were brought
into the house of God, no longer the living speakers
but the lifeless subjects of discourse."* How short
a space, since this was spoken ! But, short as it is,
it has called you to join your sorrows for the loss of
Buckminster, and brings us now to offer ours for
the loss of Abbot. A solemn presentiment oppresses
me. I tremble at the mournful rapidity of this suc
cession. I seem to myself to discharge my return of
this ominous duty, and nothing is left but for the or
der of providence to proceed. Oh ! spare me, that I
may recover strength before I go hence, and be no
more !
But I stand here, my brethren, to attempt to
soothe your feelings, and not to indulge my own. I
• Mr. Buckminster's Sermon at the interment of Rev. William Emer
son, p. 19.

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know the peculiar severity of this afflicting provi
dence. It is the completion of that long series of
\veary solicitudes and blasted hopes, with which God
has tried your hearts. Your last hopes at length have
vanished, your lastapprehensions are fulfilled. I mourn
for you, that the interval, which has elapsed since
the settlement of our departed friend, has presented
you with little but anxious cares and returning disap
pointments. I mourn with you, that you enjoyed so
little of his intercourse, so few of his labours ; and I
deeply lament that the silent interview, which you are
now holding with him, bears so large a proportion to
the number of your meetings with your pastor in
this house of God. I mourn for thee, my brother,
that thou couldst not live to reward the confidence of
this church ; and my heart is grieved, at the thought
of the long deferred hopes and sickening apprehen
sions, which oppressed thine !
Sad indeed this early separation ! When the
faithful minister of Christ, who has been permitted
long to labour in his master's vineyard, to fulfil the
work, which was given him to do, to grow up in an
affectionate intimacy with his charge, and to attend a
generation, which he has consecrated by baptism, in-

7
to life, — when such a minister is taken away, though
we weep at the dissolution of a thousand tender ties,
a thousand remembrances remain to console us.
The sabbaths we have spent together, the prayers we
have united in offering, the communions we have
holden at the table of Jesus, and the hours of sweet
intercourse and mutual confidence we have spent,
mingle a solemn but grateful tranquillity with our
sorrows, and we are able to say. Lord, now lettest
thou thy servant depart in peace. But when the
strong interests, with which the christian ministry is
commenced, are called forth, but not gratified, when
the servant of Christ is led onward to the prospect of
the field, but not permitted to enter upon its honour
able labours, — when that intensity of purpose and
solemnity of feeling, with which he enters this sacred
place, are left, without an object, to exhaust the spi
rits and oppress the heart, 'tis indeed a moving scene.
It is trying to the soul to be lingering through the
stages of disease, instead of leading inquiring souls
in the way of life, — to be remembered in the inter
cessions of anxious brethren, instead of offering the
common supplications of the worshipping assembly
at the throne of grace. While we mourn over that

8
Providence of God, which called our brother to this
trial, and bear witness to the exemplary patience,
with which he sustained it, we are not insensible,
my brethren, to the extent of your griefs. We know
the keenness of your disappointment, at seeing that
lieht, which God had placed here in his golden can
dlestick, sinl ;ng so soon into darkness and gloom ;
and we have tenderly felt for you, while we beheld
you witnessing your Pastor's untimely decline, fol
lowing him with anxious hearts to a distant land,
offering unremitted and, alas, unanswered prayers for
his health ; and watching with sad solicitude his final
decline. It is not because we are insensible to your
sorrows, that we bid you resort to the sources of con
solation. It is because we know your grief at the
death of your Pastor, that we invite you to find com
fort in reflecting upon his life.
Yet when I would call your attention to the mem
ory of our departed friend, I find alas that the history
of bis life is but the history of his death ; and that
with his entrance upon the permanent duties of his
calling, commenced the decisive inroads of the dis
order, which terminated so soon his career. Still
there is enough to dwell upon, with grateful recollec-^

9
tion. Mr. Abbot was descended from a family of
pious ancestors,* and one which has given many
ministers to the church of Christ. After the usual
preparation for a collegiate course, he entered the
University in Cambridge, where he was distinguish
ed for his purity of morals, the frankness of his
disposition, and the vivacity of his mind. Soon after
the termination of his academical studies, he returned
to the University to pursue his professional ones, and
was employed as a subordinate officer of the govern
ment and afterwards as librarian of the college. It was
here that seven years since, my acquaintance with him
commenced, and I thought not that I was destined
so soon to repay his kindness and care, with this fee
ble tribute of affection. I saw him entering with ar
dour upon his preparation to preach the gospel of
Christ ; I thought not I should be called so soon to
perform the last office of that gospel, over his remains.
In his capacity as an officer and librarian at college,
there are numbers to bear witness to his ability, fidel
ity, and zeal. Distinguished for the decision of his
purpose, and his attachment to the literary and relig
ious interests of the University, he has left upon the
? Mr. Abbot was born Nov. 1?83, and died Oct. 17, 1814.

10
minds of those, who were connected with him there,
many lively impressions of affection and respect.
In the assiduity of his attention upon official duties
and private studies, were sown the seeds of that dis
ease, which triumphed at last over the strength of
his constitution. After devoting the usual period to
the study of theology, he commenced preaching as
a candidate for the christian ministry, and continued
to labour in occasional ministrations, till called to be
the pastor of this church*. It was not among the
least of the congratulations of this happy occasion,
that his health seemed restored from his former indis
positions ; and that he entered upon the duties of the
sacred office with the fairest hope of happiness, and
the fullest prospect of success. It is but too well im
pressed upon your memory how soon he sank be
neath the labours and anxieties of his ministry and
was compelled to withdraw his hand from the ark, he
had just essayed to sustain. It is impossible to ex
press the bitterness of his disappointment, and you
need not that I should remind you of the severity of
yours. Forced to resign the thought of present la-
* Mr. Abbot was ordained to the pastoral care of First Church,
.Tuly 14, 1813.

11
bours in the ministry, your pastor yielded to the advice
of his friends, and sought in the milder climates of a
foreign land the restoration of the health, which had
failed him in his own. The hand of God conducted
him through the seas, and repeated tidings of his
welfare inspired you with hope. You began to look
forward, with increasing confidence, to a future day,
which should return your pastor in health and strength,
and fulfil your mutual expectations. It pleased God
to disappoint these interesting hopes, and we were
called too soon to fear that the resources of nature
and skill were unable to arrest the decline, that was
fixing upon his system. You have watched, with
painful but unavailing interest, the final stages of this
decline, and you come up to express your sorrows in
this house, with spirits long exercised with disappoint
ment, apprehension and grief. Depart not, I beseech
you, till you have laid down their weary load. Here
with the ashes of our deceased friend, let anxiety and
apprehension be laid to rest. Tenderly cherish his
memory in your bosoms, but cease from the distres
ses, as he has from the agonies, of this bereavement.
My brethren of this church and people, it is not
for me to eulogize before you your departed pastor.

12
You bore yourselves the highest testimony to his
worth in inviting him to stand in this place. After
every opportunity to estimate his intellectual, his
moral, and his religious qualifications, you called him
to declare to you the word of life, to offer your pray
ers at the throne of God, to consecrate your children
as disciples of his Son. You called him to stand
where Cotton and Norton, where Chauncy and Clarke
had stood ; and to break the bread of life to those,
who had received it from no common hands. He
felt, perhaps too sensibly, the weight of the responsi
bility he assumed, and his frame but too faintly cor
responded with the efforts of his spirit to sustain it.
But though you were not permitted to enjoy the ful
filment of the hopes of life and usefulness with which
your pastor was introduced to the ministry, the short
experience you had of his official and social inter
course convinced you of the solidity of his religious
character, the zeal of his professional purposes, the
affability of his private manners, and the warmth of
his heart. Alas, my brother, that thy heart should
be chilled so soon, that the sacred attachments, thou
wert just forming, should be all dissolved, and that
devoted sentiment of pastoral affection be exchanged
for bereavement, bitterness and tears.

13
Accept, brethren, the assurance of our sympathy.
God has called you to follow another Minister to his
long home ; and the gates of the grave, which had
just closed on Emerson, are now to be unfolded to
receive his successor. Your first duty in this trying
hour is a duty of submission, which you are bound
to yield to the disposal of God. Your second duty
is to resort to the sources of consolation, and these
you will find in the gospel of his Son. While the
last act of christian obedience, you are called to fulfil,
is so to lay this providence to heart, as to do something
to fit you for your own departure, and prepare you
to follow your Pastor to heaven. Thither I trust
in Jesus Christ he is gone. His devotion to the
cause of God is there reaping its recompense* The
pains of his mortal life are there repaid with exalted
joy, and the sad and solemn progress of his mortal
decline rewarded by the commencement of an eternal
course of improvement and bliss. Weep not, breth
ren, as those without hope. The graces and virtues
of our departed friend, the zeal of his attachment to
the gospel of Christ, the efforts which he made as his
disciple and follower, the integrity of his life, and ti,e
purity of his heart, are not lost in the eyes of God.,

14
Be not insensible to the divine goodness, which was
pleased to grant you even for so short a season an in
terest in the studies, the labours, and prayers of a
faithful pious man. Dwell, with affectionate regret,
on the memory of a life, which under God was ex
hausted in the pursuit of your good : and associate,
Avith every recollection of our deceased friend, the
thought of his efforts, of his sacrifice for you.
I dare not invade the shades of private sorrows, or
attempt to mingle a stranger's tears with the sacred
drops, which are falling for the husband, the brother,
and the son. God alone can cheer the desolation of
the widow's heart, or soothe the bitterness of a parent's
grief. The voice of human sympathy, how cold and
unavailing it is ! Weeping mourners, turn to God !
Of him shall you gain the strength and the comfort
you need ; of him shall you learn with what resigna
tion to suffer, in what measure to mourn. The dwel
ling of God is the broken heart. All religion is fil-
\ed up with consolations for you. All language is
exhausted in the scriptures for you. For you the
bed of languishment has become a triumphal throne,
the chamber of death is made the entrance of heaven,
ahd the grave a little resting place on the journey to

15
God. For you, faith enters this gloomy scene, the
ensigns of death become the trophies of immortality :
the songs of seraphs awaken the slumbers of expiring
nature : the star of heaven arises through the shad
ows of the tomb, and faith hears a voice, which
whispers to the departed, Blessed are the dead, which
die in the Lord.
And you, my brethren in the ministry, you who
are called to counsel others, the voice of God is
teaching you. Look round upon the desolations,
which a few years have made. Your fathers, where
are they ? and the prophets, do they live forever ?
Three years and a half are past, since you followed
the lamented Eckley and the faithful Emerson to the
grave. Another year, and the illustrious Buckmin
ster had joined the assembly of the just. The com
mencement of the last year bereaved us of the evan
gelical Eliot, and we are now assembled to pay the
mournful tribute of a brother's life to the close of
this. Meanwhile the hand of death has reached
beyond our circle, and filled up the intervals of
our immediate bereavements, with breaches on the
churches around. The venerable Prentiss is no
more : the darkness of death still hangs over the
candlestick, where the light of Kendall shone, and

16
the earth has scarce settled over the ashes of Barnard.
What a desolating urgency is hurrying us on ! How
weary our poor nature seems of these feeble services,
how anxious to hurry over this prologue of a world,
and commence the grand scene of eternity. Prepare
then for the summons of another year. Slight not
tlie warnings God is giving us of our call. Age has
here no prescription, and youth no indulgence. Oh
my brethren, we stand amidst ruins ; how many
of the temples of the Lord have lost their crown of
aged wisdom, or their palm of youthful hope. New
connections are forming in our churches, other voi
ces are sounding from our pulpits ; the generations of
the living press the footsteps of the dead, and death
stands knocking impatiently at the door. Besides the
common frailties, of humanity, which are ours ; the
very toils of our vocation may be the instruments of
its close. At the altar of God, where we pray for life,
the summons may reach us to die.* Norton, the
third pastor of this church, died on the noon
of the Lord's day, while preparing for the even
ing service. Oxenbridge, the sixth minister, was
* Inter ipsa altaria, et solemnes sacrlficantium ritus, dum opt^tur vita^
HiOi-tem cotidiscite. Seneca De Prmident. § 6.

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stricken in the pulpit with death. Foxcroft, af
ter one day's illness, died on the sabbath ; and many
of you witnessed how the lamented Clarke was
found by the destroying angel at the altar of the
Lord. Happy spirits ! whose master came and found
them watching ; who were taken, like Moses, from
the top of mount Pisgah ; who were released from
this world while soaring nearest the other. Happy
spirits ! who joined the chorus of angelick praise
with strains of human gratitude sounding from your
lips ; who passed without an interval, a suspension of
thought, from the earthly service to the heavenly
enjoyment of God.* Happy art thou too, my
brother, and blest of God thine early grave ! Thy
day was short, but thou gavest it all to him. Thou
hast not gone down with the debt of religion and of
piety unpaid. Here in the church, the last efforts of
thy strength were put forth, here the trembling ac
cents of thy lips were offered up, and here thou art
brought to receive another blessing, and to pass from
the scene of thy short labours, to the bed of thine
endless rest.
* Oportet concionatorem, aut precantem aut predicanteni, mori
Apud Mather's Magnalia. f. 3. f>. 222.

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Friends, brethren, christians, why have you as
sembled in this house of mourning ? Is it to witness
unaffected these funeral riteSj to gaze without emo
tion on these lifeless remains, to spend a barren hour
in useless observation, and to depart with a cold un-
sanctified heart ? Come then, my friends, do not
droop at this mournful scene. Let not these ensigns
of mortality cast a shade over your minds, shudder
not at the sad spectacle of departed man, nor drop a
tear over the ruins of nature and hope. Return to
the joys and pursuits of the world, resume its occu
pations, engage in its cares, and march onward with
undaunted aspect to the grave. But you, who have
come in better frame — to hear the voice of the tomb —
to join your sorrows with these mourning friends —
and to lay the lesson of human frailty to heart, ap
proach with chastised, submissive minds, and mark
this mournful scene. Behold what death has done.
You were spectators when this house was so lately
thrown open, with happier auspices, and a new min
ister was given to the church of Christ. You heard
the prayers, which were offered for his happiness and
health, and joined the congratulations of that day.
You saw him enter with zealous purpose on the la-

19
hours of his calling, and heard him implore God's
blessing on the assembled multitude. And what,
alas, remains ! Canst thou not, my brother, approach
nearer this sacred place ! Must thou rest in that dark
and narrow house ; art thou going to a darker narrow
er yet ! Hast thou not a word, a look to give, no
truth, no warning to impart !
Hark ! — from the tombs a doleful sound ! —
Sons of the earth, he calls to you, daughters
of pleasure, he calls to you, slaves of the world,
he calls to you i Awful eloquence, persuasion of
the grave ! Shut not your hearts, your consciences,
to the sound. Redeem a transient feeling to the
welfare of your souls ; and spare a moment from the
profligacy of time and life to think of the approach
of death and eternity !
Friends, Christians, all is not lost. Death indeed
has gained another victim to his dominion, and redu
ced another frame to its original dust. Death has
conquered a mortal body, but heaven has gained an
immortal soul. A life of trial and suffering is over,
an eternity of glory and blessedness is begun ; and
while these walls are resounding with the accents of
grief, another voice has joined the chorus of angelick

20
praise. Christians, why grieve at this happy change ?
Mourners, why weep at this blessed consummation ?
Why do we mourn departed friends^
Or shake at death's alarms ?
'Tis but the voice which Jesus sends,
To call them to his arms.
Farewell, dear brother, thy Saviour calls. Thy
trials are over, thy work is done. Already thou hast
past the portals of death, already thou hast mount
ed on seraph wings, already thou hast caught the
vision of God ! Ages of happiness are bursting on
thy soul ! Thy march of eternity has begun !

rnotomount Pamphlet Binder
'^Gaylord Bros. Inc.
'Mafeers
Syracij^e, N. Y.
PAT. JAN 21, 190B

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