1663?

A Squared Stone became Christ's Building rare;
A Peter's Living lively Stone (so Reared),
As, 'live was Hartfords life, dead, death is feared.

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1669.

FROM

AN ELEGIE UPON THE DEATH OF THE
REVEREND MR. THOMAS SHEPARD
(BY URIAN OAKES)

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!

5

Now could I wish (if wishing would obtain)
The sprightli'est Efforts of Poetick Rage,
To vent my Griefs, 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.

And could my Pen ingeniously distill
The purest Spirits of a sparkling wit
In rare conceits, the quintessence of skill
In Elegiack Strains, none like to it,

I should think all too little to condole
The fatal loss (to us) of such a Soul.

Could I take highest Flights of Fancy, soar

Aloft, 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. . . . .

His Look commanded Reverence and Awe,

Though Mild and Amiable, not Austere:

Well Humour'd was He (as I ever saw),
And rul'd by Love and Wisdome more than Fear.
The Muses and the Graces too conspir'd

To set forth this Rare Piece to be admir'd.

He govern'd well the Tongue (that busie thing,
Unruly, Lawless and Pragmatical):

Gravely Reserv'd, in Speech not lavishing,
Neither too sparing nor too liberal;

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His Words were few, well season'd, wisely weigh'd,

35

And in his Tongue the Law of kindness sway'd.

Learned he was beyond the common Size;

Befriended much by Nature in his Wit

And Temper (Sweet, Sedate, Ingenious, Wise);

And (which crown'd all) he was Heav'ens Favourite,
On whom the God of all Grace did command
And show'r down Blessings with a lib'eral hand.

40

Wise He, not wily, was; Grave, not Morose;
Not stiffe but steady; Seri'ous but not Sowre;
Concern'd for all, as if he had no Foes

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(Strange if he had!); and would not wast an Hour; Thoughtful and Active for the common good, And yet his own place wisely understood.

....

See where our Sister Charlstown sits and Moans!
Poor Widowed Charlstown, all in Dust, in Tears!
Mark how she wrings her hands! hear how she groans!
See how she weeps! what sorrow like to hers!

50

Charlstown, that might for joy compare of late
With all about her, now looks desolate.

As you have seen some Pale, Wan, Ghastly look,
When grisly Death, that will not be said nay,
Hath seiz'd all for it self, Possession took,
And turn'd the Soul out of its house of Clay,

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So Visag'd is poor Charlstown at this day;
Shepard, her very Soul, is torn away.

Cambridge groans under this so heavy cross,
And Sympathizes with her Sister dear;

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Renews her Griefs afresh for her old loss

Of her own Shepard, and drops many a Tear.

Cambridge and Charlstown now joint Mourners are,
And this tremendous loss between them share.

65

Must Learnings Friend (Ah, worth us all) go thus,
That Great Support to Harvards Nursery?

Our Fellow (that no Fellow had with us)

Is gone to Heave'ns great University:

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Our's now indeed 's a lifeless Corporation;
The Soul is fled that gave it Animation!

Farewel, Dear Shepard! Thou art gone before,

Made free of Heaven, where thou shalt sing loud Hymns
Of High triumphant Praises evermore,

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In the sweet Quire of Saints and Seraphims.

Lord, look on us here, clogg'd with sin and clay,

And we, through Grace, shall be as happy as they.

My Dearest, Inmost, Bosome-Friend is Gone!
Gone is my sweet Companion, Soul's delight!

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Now in an Huddling Croud I'm all alone,
And almost could bid all the World Goodnight.

Blest be my Rock! God lives: Oh let him be,
As He is All, so All in All to me.

1677.

1677.

FROM

A POEM DEDICATED TO THE MEMORY OF
THE REVEREND AND EXCELLENT
MR. URIAN OAKES

(BY N. R.)

Well, Reader, Wipe thine Eyes! & see the Man
(Almost too small a word!) which Cambridge can

Say, "I have lost." In Name a Drusius,

And Nature, too; yea, a compendious
Both Magazine of worth and Follower
Of all that ever great and famose were.
A great Soul in a little Body. (Add,
In a small Nutshell Graces Iliad.)

5

How many Angels on a Needle's point

Can stand is thought, perhaps, a needless Point:
Oakes Vertues too I 'me at a loss to tell;

In short, Hee was New-England's SAMUEL,

And had as many gallant Propertyes

As ere an Oak had Leaves or Argus Eyes.

A better Christian would a miracle

Be thought. From most he bore away the Bell.

Oakes an Uncomfortable Preacher was,

I must confess. Hee made us cry, Alass!
In sad Despair. Of what? Of ever seeing
A better Preacher while wee have a beeing.
Hee, oh, Hee was in Doctrine, Life, and all
Angelical and Evangelical;

A Benedict and Boniface to boot,
Commending of the Tree by noble Fruit.
All said, "Our Oakes the Double Power has
Of Boanerges and of Barnabas.

Hee is a Christian Nestor: Oh, that wee
Might him among us for three Ages see!
But, ah, Hee 's gone to Sinus Abraha."
What shall I say? Never did any spitt
Gall at this Gall-less, Guile-less Dove; nor yet
Did any Envy with a cankred breath

Blast him. It was, I'me sure, the gen'ral Faith,
Lett Oakes Bee, Say, or Do what e're he wou'd

If it were OAKES it must be wise, true, good.

Except the Sect'ryes Hammer might a blow

Or two receive from Anabaptists, who

Never lov'd any Man that wrote a Line

Their naught, Church-rending Cause to undermine.

Yett after my Encomiastick Ink

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Is all run out, I must conclude (I think)

With a Dicebam, not a Dixi. Yea,

Such a course will exceeding proper bee:

The Jews, whene're they build an House, do leave

Some part Imperfect, as a call to grieve

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For their destroy'd Jerus'lem; I'le do so!

I do 't!

Lord, Lett us Peace on this our Israel see, And still both Hephsibah and Beulah bee! Then will thy People Grace and Glory Sing,

And every Wood with Hallelujah's ring.

JOHN GRAVE

FROM

A SONG OF SION

Be silent now, all People, young and old,

Give ear, all Nations; let your eyes behold

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1682.

How Christ's pure Light most glorious doth appear.

O all mankind, submit to him in fear;

And let your Priests for shame deceive no more,

5

For Christ doth sure destroy great Babel's Whore,
Which proudly doth on many Waters sit,
And to Christ's glorious Light will not submit,

But strictly will make Laws against the just,
And rob the harmeless to fulfil their lust.
Was ever Pharaoh's eye more wilful blind?
And think you not God's wrath as sure to find?
Would you prescribe how men shall serve the Lord,
And you your selves God's Laws never regard?
O wretched men, would you your selves enthrone
And seek to rule where Christ should rule alone?

ΙΟ

15

Who truly will reward equal and right,
According as each loves or hates his Light.

Dare you revenge your selves upon a man

That fears the Lord and not bow to you can?
Or for reproving you of any ill

Will you your cruelty on them fulfil ?

20

And for meeting together in Christ's Name

Dare you make havock of them for the same?
Let fury cease, for God's just wrath proceeds,
And gives to man according to his deeds.
Doth Corn so plentifully now abound

25

That upright men may not work in their ground,
And no place else can you to them aford
But prison-holes because they fear the Lord?

30