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cause_n body_n life_n soul_n 5,160 5 5.5664 4 true
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ID Title Author Corrected Date of Publication (TCP Date of Publication) STC Words Pages
A64279 A tear dropt from the hearse of the Reverend Dr. Benjamin Calamy, late minister of St. Lawrence Jury London, who departed this life on Sunday the 3d of January, 1685/6 1685 (1685) Wing T606; ESTC R2347 1,507 1

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A TEAR DROPT FROM THE HEARSE Of the Reverend Dr. Benjamin Calamy LATE Minister of St. Lawrence Jury London Who departed this Life on Sunday the 3d of January 1685 6 Quis matrem in funere Nati Here vetat AS when some Tempest rages in the Air And against all the Wood proclaims a War The Humble Shrubs are scarce concern'd at all Only the Oaks and mighty Cedars Fall Those are a Prize to Beggerly and Low But these become the Greatness of the Foe Those remain Safe because Defenceless quite But against these doth their own Greatness Fight Dust thus it is in the Assaults of Fate The Common Herd is seldome Brave or Great They by the Foe do Unregarded ly And Live so long till they wou'd chose to Die But where you see a large and spacious Mind Where Worth and Virtue are with Learning join'd Where Noble Thoughts do with like Deeds conspire And the whole Man is Perfect and Intire There you may see the Malice of our Fate And what Misfortunes doth on Virtue wait Whil'st those that never could deserve to Die But might have Challeng'd Immortality Meet still the soonest with their Destiny These are the Noblest and the greatest Prey And Fate by this goes a compendious way For she Wounds us whil'st she doth these Men Slay Thus he Great BEN with all his Learning Dies Too Early and too Dear a SACRIFICE He whose great mind was with all useful Knowledge fraught That Nature ever gave or Art has Taught He and his Worth are Wither'd cold and Dead And the Treasures of his Mind are Fled Nothing has scap'd the fierce and angry Flame But his great Memory and Immortal Name Nought such a Loss can equal or befit Less than his powerful Eloquence and Wit Some small remains of those with us abide But all the rest the envious Dark doth hide Some single Sheets indeed the Press imparts The rest are writ upon the Hearers Hearts His Charming Periods are past and gone And in his Peoples Lives must now be shown Pity such Words in transient sounds should Die Or in a Study unregarded ly Pity each falling Line had not been Writ In Charactors as lasting as his Wit That the next Age by him might learn to make Those Rules by which they from that Place should speak The Gospel in such streaming Sense did flow When the Apostles Preach'd to Men Below The Current sometimes troubled was I own Which by his seeming Lisping oft was shown But 't was the Torrent of his Eloquence The strife betwixt his crowding Words and Sense Still with such hidden Influence he could dive And to his Hearers Brest himself derive So gently touch each Fault and Fester'd Part Yet the charm'd Patient not betray the Smart Could such a pleasing Force Evidence show Yet still the Sinner unoffended go It prov'd his Sermons could like Lightning Pierce Quite to the Blade the Scabbard ne'er the worse Which shows thou only and some happy few The true and genuine Art of Preaching knew Our Church will own tho she receives a Blow Yet still a Numerous Race of Youths can show Who by thy Doctrine and Example fed May come in time our Churches Cause to Head And Oh! If thy Example this can do Why did'st thou not let fall thy Spirit too But say Bless'd Shade so soon why would'st thou go And take thy self from mournful Us below Tell me did'st thou by a fore-seeing Eye See some Black Tempest gathering in our Skie Was that the cause I rather think the partial Hand of Fate Did but too ill thy Soul and Body Mate If the Soul's Gaol the Body Stile we must Into the worst of Prisons thine was thrust Thou tir'd and a weary to the Grave did'st come But leave that Life which was grown Burdensome Hold happy Shade here must my Number cease No more I will presume to vex thy Peace Besides I see thy Praedecessors stand To meet and joy thee to the promis●d Land Go happy Saint and there injoy that Rest Which here on Earth is still deni'd the Best All we can do is to Adorn thy HEARSE And hang it round with this poor Mortal VERSE This may be Printed R.L.S. LONDON Printed by George Croom at the Blue-Ball in Thames-street near Baynard's-Castle 1685.