Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, AN ELEGY UPON THE DEATH OF ... MR. SAMUEL HOOKER, by EDWARD TAYLOR


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AN ELEGY UPON THE DEATH OF ... MR. SAMUEL HOOKER, by                 Poet Analysis     Poet's Biography
First Line: Grief sometimes a is duty yet when great
Last Line: Then shall arise and quite outshine the sun.
Subject(s): Hooker, Samuel (1635-1697); Puritans In Literature


Griefe sometimes is a duty yet when Greate
And geteth vent, it Non-Sense sobs, doth speake
Cutting off Sentences by Enterjections
Made by the force of hard beset Affections.
Should I in mine pass through this Hemisphere
And beg of ev'ry Eye a Trickling teare
To wash thy Tombe, Deare Hooker, bright therein,
All would not Drown the Griefe that thence doth spring.
Shall thy Choice Name here not embalmed ly
In those Sweet Spices whose perfumes do fly
From thy greate Excellence? It surely would
Be Sacraledge thy Worth back to withhold.
Lord spare the Flock. Shall brave brave Jon'than dy?
And David's place be empty? Sling ly by?
Before their heads those Almond Trees are white
And ere they're mellow'd by old age's weight?
When Birds new Hatcht ware, as in nest they ly,
Presbytick Down, Pinfeatherd Prelacy
(Young Cockerills, whose Combs soare up like Spires
That force their Dams: and Crow against their Sires?)
Dost thou withdraw? and now? Where are thy Spurs
Then to be had? Whose sight would work demurrs.
Where hast thou left thy Strenth, and Potency?
And Congregationall Artillery?
We need the Same, and need it more and more.
For Babels Canons 'gainst our Bulworks roare.

2 TO NEW ENGLAND.

Alas! alas! New England go weep.
Thy loss is greate in him: For he did keep
Within thine Orb as a bright shining Sun
To give thee Light, but now his race is run.
And though his Epicycle was but small
His shining Beams did fly to lighten all.
He was in Person neat, of lesser Sise,
With Ruddy Looks, and with quick rowling eyes.
His Head a Magazeen of Wisdom rich,
With Spirits fand from foggy Vapors which
Do Reason cloud: a Fine spun Fancy, Quick,
Producing Notions brave, and Rhetorick.
A Son of such a Father, whose name Flew
Like sweet Perfume o're Englands Old, and New.
A Son, though youngest, yet that did inherit,
A noble portion of his Fathers Spirit,
Wise, Pious, Prudent, had a Strong, Cleare Head,
That entertaind the Strength of what he red.
Grave, not Morose, Courteous; yet did Command
A Distance due: and by a gentle hand.
Not Verbous, yet, his lips would oft distill
Brave Apophthegms: Facete Wit, and Skill.
In Councill Choice, deliberate, and full.
In Disputation, Acute. Home, not Dull
Meek as a Lamb, yet as a Lion, hee
Could put on Majesty, if't needs must bee.
Keen in Rebukes yet Candid, Corrosive
Where Cases calld, would to the bottom rive.
A True Peace-Maker, Farmington may say,
Offt in the fire and Flame of others fray
Calazy-Gem like quencht it. And as fring'd
With Salamanders Woole, he was not sindg'd.
He steady was: Not on, and Off. His Minde
John Baptist like's no Reed shook with the Winde.
Concocted not, though neatly minced Slops,
A mess of Windmills, or of Weather-Cocks.
Not Esau like selling his choice Free Sockage
Then left his Birthright for a bowl of Pottage.
He, and the best of Queens, we thus describe'm
Agreeing in one Motto Semper idem.
A Box of Jewells, string of Pearls bright, High.
Of Heavenly Graces a sweet Spicery.
Humble, and full of selfe abasement, though
Such Excellency did in him e're flow.
A Rich Divine: a Pastour very choice
Dispensing Grace, with a sweet piercing voice
(Like to the still small Voice Elijah heard)
That rended Rocks, and Satans Intrest marr'd.
In Prayre sweet, the musick of which String
Celestiall Wealth unto the Earth would bring
Like little Paul in Person, Voice, and Grace
Advancing Christ and sinfull things out race.
The Sacred Writ with joy he did attend.
And Scriptures dropt even at his fingers end.
A Weighty Preacher: never notion Sick:
An Angel in a Golden Candlestick.
He had the knack of Preaching: and did dart
Christs fiery Shafts into the flinty heart;
Till it was broken: Then the smarting wound
Would dress with Gilliads Balm to make it sound.
The Gospell Bow and balsom well he knew --
Barjona was; and Boanerges true.
Great Gregry, its said, did Peters Coffin Wrest
Wide ope, and found his Keyes in't. (Ah! well Blesst)
But Hooker bravely handed Aaron Rod
Christ's own Choice Keyes, and gently, and for God.
A Loving Husband; tender Father, who
In sweet affections oft would overflow
With Pious, Rich Discourse, that was well spic'd
With Gospell Grace, to bring them up to Christ.
And holy Counsill on them he would shoure
With Death Bed Charges till his dying hour.
But seing Death Creep on his Fingers ends,
And on his Hands, and Arms, bespake his Friends
Thus, saying, They are Dead, you see, and I
Have done with them: warm cloaths thereto apply,
But Death admits no check mate. Out he poures
His Soul on Christ. On him they weep in showers.
But art thou gone, Brave Hooker, hence? and Why?
What, wast thou weary of thy Ministry?
Or weari'd out by thy fed flock? Alas!
Or did the Countrey's Sins it bring to pass?
He was a Samuel in his place, and breath.
Let Israel do him honour at his Death.
Mourn, mourn, New England, alas! alas!
To see thy Freckled Face in Gospell Glass:
To feele thy Pulse, and finde thy Spleen's not well:
Whose Vapors cause thy Pericordium t'swell:
Do suffocat, and Cramp thee, and grow worse
By Hypochondrik Passions of the purse,
Affect thy Brains toucht with the Turn, till thou
Halfe sick of Preachers false, and Gospell Plow.
Such Symptoms say, if nothing else will ease,
Thy Sickness soon will cure thy sad Disease.
For when such Studs, as stop, and scotch the Way
Of thy Declensions are remoov'd thy bay,
Apostasy wherewith thou art thus driven
Unto the tents of Presbyterianism
(Which is refined Prelacy at best)
Will not stay long here in her tents, and rest,
But o're this Bridge will carry thee apace
Into the Realm of Prelates arch, the place
Where open Sinners vile unmaskt indeed
Are Welcom Guests (if they can say the Creed)
Unto Christs Table, While they can their Sins
Atone in Courts by offering Silverlings.
Watch, Watch thou then: Reform thy life: Refine
Thyselfe from thy Declentions. Tend thy line.
Steeples ware Weathercocks: but Turrits gain
An Happiness under a Faithfull Vane.
And weep thy Sins away, lest woe be nigh.
For Angells with thy Lots away do high.

PART. 3. TO CONNECTICUT.

Mourn, mourn, Connecticut; thou'st lost a Gem;
A Carbuncle, (and thou hast few of them)
Is fallen from thy Crown, a Sun full bright
Is set, bidding thine Horizon good night.
Mourn Hartford, mourn; a bud of thine is gone:
A Gem that grew on thy Foundation Stone
(Not Stone's, but Hooker's who did in thee Shine
In Light, Life, Line, and Gospell Discipline)
Who griev'd to see thee warpe from thy foundation
And leave thy first Love thus, and Education.
Of all thy Sons thou hast not such another
To stay thy Head, and heart from ill recover.

PART. 4.

Alas poor Farmington, of all the rest
Most Happy, and Unhappy, Blesst unblesst:
Most Happy having such an Happiness:
And most unhappy losing of no less.
Oh! mourn, and weep, remember thou the Call
Thy Prophet gave thee to't before his fall.
Oh Daughter of my people, (that last text)
Gird thee with Sackcloth, Wallow thee perplext
In ashes. Mourn thou lamentably
As for an onely Son: weep bitterly,
For lo, the Spoiler suddenly shall come
Upon us. And his Sermon being done
The motive to the Call, the Prophesy
Had an accomplishment before your eye.
For he much spent desired you to sing
A Psalm while he refresht and rested him,
Which done he prayed over you intent,
Dismist you with a blessing briefe, and bent
Under the Spoiler down that suddenly
Assaulted him. And gave discharg thereby
Unto his pulpit from all right of Claim
For ever after in this man of Fame.
He bowing goes unto a neighbours, whence
After a while he rideth home from thence
Betook him to his dying Bed perfum'd
With prayers to God, and Charges he assum'd
And laid his friends and Wife and Children under
While five dayes run, and Illiak pains did thunder.
That Hooker now by this sharp tyranny
Forcing things back that should go on, should dy
Lord grant it be n't an Omen of our Fate
Foreshewing our apostate following State.
Then mourn poore Church, thy Prophets race is run
As for a Father, or an onely Son.
After three tens, and seven years were past
Under thy rocky hill by him, at last
He thus doth leave thee. Search into thy Sin,
Repent, and grieve that ere thou grievedst him,
Or rather God in him, lest suddenly
The Spoiler still should on thee come and stroy.
Lord, art thou angry with the Flock, that thou
Dost slay their Shephard? Or dost disallow
The Fold, and lay it Common that thou smite
Down dost the shory that upheld it right?
Shall angling cease? And no more fish be took
That thou callst home thy Hooker with his Hook?
Lord, spare the flock: uphold the fold from falling.
Send out another Hooker of this Calling.

PART. 5. TO THE FAMILY RELICT.

Thou mourning Family, what shall I say?
Shall Passion, or compassion o're me sway?
It is a day of Griefe: Tears are a Dress
Becoming us, come they not to excess.
Then keep due measure. Should you too much bring,
Your too much is too little far for him.
Thou mourning Widdow! Oh! how sad? how sharp?
Poor bleeding Soule! how turned is thy Harp
Into the Voice of mourning? Organ sweet
Into the bitter Voice of them that weep.
But yet cheere up: New England layes her head
To thine, to weep with thee over thy Dead.
Thou may'st therefore spend fewer tears of Sorrow
Out of thine own, thou dost so many borrow.
Christs Napkin take, Graces green Taffity
And wipe therewith, thy Weeping, watry eye
And thou shalt see thy Hooker all ore gay
With Christ in bliss, adorn'd with Glories Ray,
And putting out his shining hand to thee
Saying, My Honey, mourn no more for mee.
That Love wrongs both, that wills mee with thee hence.
But joy to see my Joy, and Glory mence.
In Faith, Obedience, Patience, walk awhile
And thou shalt soon leape ore the parting Stile,
And come to God, Christ, Angells, Saints, and Mee.
So wee in Bliss together e're shall bee.
When we did wed, we each a mortall took.
And ever from that day for this did look
Wherein we parted are; and one should have
Griefe, I o're thy, or thou over my grave.
The Lot is cast on thee. I first must go
And leave thee weeping o're my Grave in woe.
But stay thy Sorrow: bless my Babes. Obey.
And soon thou shall with mee enjoy good day.
And as for you his Buds, and Blossoms blown,
Stems of his Root, his very Flesh and Bone,
You needs must have great droopings, now the Tree
Is fallen down the boughs whereof you bee.
You have a Father lost, and Choice one too.
Weeping for him is honour due from you.
Yet let your Sorrows run in godly wise
As if his Spirits tears fell from your eyes.
Strive for his Spirit: rather Christ's, than His
To dwell, and act his Flesh, yourselves, to bliss.
Its pitty these in him conjoyn'd, up grew
Together, should be parted here in you.
Plants of a Noble Vine, a Right, Right Seed.
Oh! turn not to a Strange Wild vine or Weed.
Your Grand sire were a Chiefe Foundation Stone
In this Blesst Building: Father was well known
To be a Chiefe Good Builder in the Same
And with his might did ever it mentain.
Your Grandsire's Spirit through your Father breathd
In Life, on you, and as his Life he leav'd,
Striving to breath into your hearts his Spirit
As out of him it passed, to inherit.
Be n't like such babes as parents brains out pull
To make a Wassill Bowle then of the Skull.
That Pick their Parents eyes out, and the holes
Stuff up with folly, as if no braind Souls.
You are of better form than this sad guise
Yet beare this Caution: Some apostatise.
And strive your Sires, and Grandsires Life and Line
Through you their Flesh and blood may brightly shine.
Imminde your Father's Death bed Charge and aime.
You are his Very Flesh, and Blood, and Name.
The NAME of HOOKER precious in our story
Make you more precious, adding to its Glory,
At the Bright flaming Sun of Righteousness,
With a Celestiall Light, e're burning fresh.
A Cabbinet of Vertue, ever brave.
A Magazeen of Counsill, Weighty, Grave.
A Treasury of Grace, th'Imbroideries
Of th'Holy Ghost in Heart, and Life here lies.
A Temple bright of Piety in print,
To glorify that God that dwelled in't.
A Stage of War, Whereon the Spirits Sword
Hew'd down the Hellish foes that did disturb.
A Cage whose bird of Paradise therein
Did sing sweete Musick forth to glories King.
A Silver Trumpet of the Temple bright
Blown by an Angell of Celestiall light
A Temple deckt, and with all graces spic'de
For God the Father, Spirit, and for Christ.
A Golden Pulpit Where an Angell Choice
Preacht Zions Grace with Sinai's thundering voice.
An Oratore of Prayre, which, rapt up, hopt
Up Souls to Heaven, Heaven down to Souls oft knockt.
Were there a Metempsychosis, we say
Greate Hookers Soule, sure, once possest this Clay.
Elijah's Mantle: and the dust that fell
Of th'Charriot, and the Horse of Israel,
Scarce ever dust more glorious made for bliss
With glorious Grace, or better usd than this,
That here now stript of all that Wealth, and Station
Doth lie, yet firmly holds its high Relation.
And here we leave it, till the last Dayes Shoute
Breaking its Coffin brings it glorious out.
And wipe those drops wrung from thy Winding Sheet
Brave Sir, off from our Eyes, that weeping keep,
With thy White Lawn thou wearst in Glory Gay,
Charming our Griefe therewith, Amen we say.

HIS EPITAPH.

A turffe of Glory, Rich Celestiall Dust,
A Bit of Christ here in Death's Cradle husht.
An Orb of Heavenly Sunshine: a bright Star
That never glimmerd: ever shining faire,
A Paradise bespangled all with Grace:
A Curious Web o'relaid with holy lace
A Magazeen of Prudence: Golden Pot
Of Gracious Flowers never to be forgot
Farmingtons Glory, and its Pulpits Grace
Lies here a Chrystallizing till the trace
Of Time is at an end and all out run.
Then shall arise and quite outshine the Sun.





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