Flattery shall faint beneath the sound,
While hoary truth inspires the song;
Envy grow pale and bite the ground,

And Slander gnaw her forky tongue.

Night and the grave remove your gloom;
Darkness becomes the vulgar dead;
But Glory bids the royal tomb
Disdain the horrors of a shade.

Glory with all her lamps shall burn,
And watch the warrior's sleeping clay,
Till the last trumpet rouse his urn
To aid the triumphs of the day.

EPITAPHIUM VIRI VENERABILIS

DOM. N. MATHER, Carmine Lapidario conscriptum.

M. S.

REVERENDI ADMODUM VIRI

NATHANAELIS MATHERI.

Quod mori potuit hic subtus depositum est, Si quæris hospes, quantus et qualis fuit, Fidus enarrabit lapis.

Nomen à familia duxit

Sanctioribus studiis et evangelio devota, Et per utramque Angliam celebri, Americanum se, atque Europæum.

Et hic quoque in sancti ministerii spem eductus Non fallacem :

Et hunc utraque novit Anglia

Doctum et docentem.

Corpore fuit procero, forma placidè verenda;
At supra corpus et formam sublimè eminuerunt
Indoles, ingenium, atque eruditio:

Supra hæc pietas, et (si fas dicere)
Supra pietatem modestia,
Cæteras enim dotes obumbravit.
Quoties in rebus divinis peragendis
Divinitas afflatæ mentis specimina
Præstantiora edidit,

Toties hominem sedulus occuluit
Ut solus conspiceretur Deus:
Voluit totus latere, nec potuit;
Heu quantum tamen sui nos latet!
Et majorem laudis partem sepulchrale marmor

Invito obruit silentio.

Gratiam Jesu Christi salutiferam
Quam abundè hausit ipse, aliis propinavit,
Puram ab humana fæce.
Veritatis evangelicæ decus ingens,
Et ingens propugnaculum.
Concionatur gravis aspectu, gestu, voce;
Cui nec aderat pompa oratoria,
Nec deerat;

Flosculos rhetorices supervacaneos fecit Rerum dicendarum majestas, et Deus præsens. Hinc arma militiæ suæ non infelicia,

Hinc toties fugatus Satanas,
Et hinc victoriæ

Ab inferorum portis torties reportatæ
Solers ille ferreis impiorum animis infigere

Altum et salutare vulnus :

Vulneratas idem tractare leniter solers,
Et medelam adhibere magis salutarem.
Ex defæcato cordis fonte

Divinis eloquiis affatim scatebant labia,
Etiam in familiari contubernio:

Spirabat ipse undique cœlestes suavitates,
Quasi oleo lætitiæ semper recèns delibutus,
Et semper supra socios;
Gratumque dilectissimi sui Jesu odorem
Quaquaversùs et latè diffudit.
Dolores tolerans supra fidem,
Ærumnæque heu quam assiduæ !
Invicto animo, victrice patientia
Varias curarum moles pertulit
Et in stadio et in meta vitæ :

Quam ubi propinquam vidit,
Plerophoria fidei quasi corru alato vectus
Properè et exultìm attigit.

Natus est in agro Lancastriensi 20° Martiis, 1630. Inter Nov-Anglos theologiæ tyrocinia fecit,

Pastorali munere diu Dublinii in Hibernia functus, Tandem (ut semper) providentiam secutus ducem, Cœtui fidelium apud Londinenses præpositus est, Quos doctrina precibus, et vita beavit :

Ah brevi!

Corpore solutus 26° Julii, 1697. Ætat. 67. Ecclesiis mærorem, theologis exemplar reliquit. Probis piisque omnibus

Infandum sui desiderium:

Dum pulvis Christo charus hic dulcè dormit
Expectans stellam matutinam.

ON THE SUDDEN DEATH OF

MRS. MARY PEACOCK.

AN ELEGIAC SONG.

SENT IN A LETTER OF CONDOLENCE TO MR. N. P. MER-
CHANT, AT AMSTERDAM.

HARK! she bids all her friends adieu!
Some angel calls her to the spheres;
Our eyes the radiant saint pursue
Through liquid telescopes of tears.

Farewell, bright soul! a short farewell,
Till we shall meet again above,

In the sweet groves where pleasures dwell,
And trees of life bear fruits of love:

There glory sits on every face,

There friendship smiles in every eye,
There shall our tongues relate the grace
That led us homeward to the sky.

O'er all the names of Christ our King
Shall our harmonious voices rove,
Our harps shall sound from every string
The wonders of his bleeding love.

Come, Sovereign Lord! dear Saviour, come!
Remove these separating days,

Send thy bright wheels to fetch us home;
That golden hour, how long it stays!

How long must we lie lingering here,
While saints around us take their flight?
Smiling, they quit this dusky sphere,

And mount the hills of heavenly light.

Sweet soul, we leave thee to thy rest,
Enjoy thy Jesus and thy God,
Till we from bands of clay releas'd,
Spring out, and climb the shining road.

While the dear dust she leaves behind
Sleeps in thy bosom, sacred tomb;

Soft be her bed, her slumbers kind,
And all her dreams-of joy to come.

TO THE

REV. MR. JOHN SHOWER,

ON THE DEATH OF HIS DAUGHTER, MRS. ANNE WARNER.

Reverend and dear Sir,

Dec. 22, 1707.

How great soever was my sense of your loss, yet I did not think myself fit to offer any lines of comfort; your own meditations can furnish you with many a delightful truth in the midst of so heavy a sorrow; for the covenant of grace has brightness enough in it to gild the most gloomy providence; and to that sweet covenant your soul is no stranger. My own thoughts were much impressed with the tidings of your daughter's death; and though I made many a reflection on the vanity of mankind in its