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A65510 An elegy on the death of that painful minister of the Gospel Mr. James Fitton who fell asleep in the Lord, the 12th of this instant June, 1677 / by W.W. W. W., 17th century. 1677 (1677) Wing W144A; ESTC R26301 1,152 1

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AN ELEGY ON THE Death of that painful Minister of the Gospel Mr. JAMES FITTON Who fell asleep in the Lord the 12th of this instant June 1677. DEath Ah cruel Death what damage hast thou done Thus to bereave us now agen of one More of the suffering Servants of our Lord Whose tender hearts forbids them to accord With Romish Superstitions which they hate Alas for us to mourn 't is now too late For Reverend Fitton Learned Pious Bold Humble Painful Preacher it can't be told How beautiful and glorious within He was much like the Daughter of the King Of Saints his spotless life in view of all can tell And Consciences awaken'd many can yet well Bear Witness to the keenness of that edged Sword Brandisht by him the heart all-searching word His lords-Lords-days Morning Lecture did declare What heart-affections to young souls he bear Those that did early to the Vineyard come This Vineyard-keeper sent them laden home Those that in youth did cleave unto the Lord With great complacency he would afford Help by his Counsel to proceed i'th'race They'd undertaken with a swift sure pace A Universal Love to Saints as Saints he bore Woe and alas we shan't enjoy him more Mourn you his Hearers all and wait and Pray For Preservation in this evil day Now we have had such numbers ta'ne away Of those who lab'rers in Christ's Vineyard were Oh Lord let new ones in their stead appear Full fraught and loaded with a double measure Of gifts and grace Oh that mod Heavenly Treasure Well Christians know that though we have this loss And it adds weight and magnifies our cross He has lost nothing but is gone to see His dear Lord Jesus who hath made him free From what we yet endure the Devils rage With Curs'd prophaneness of this monstrous Age With many more of the like nature that Do cause us oft to mourn sometimes debate The Faithfulness of God This World 's a Thief Stealing our hearts but he has sound relief Me-thinks I hear him say Daughters don't weep For me but for your selves I Sleep And Rest from all my Labours in the Lord Whom I do find in all things worth His Word Oh Lord free thine from such great Judgments sad That make the Righteous grieve the Wicked glad These Tears we boldly sprinkle on his Hearse From mournful hearts unfit to make a Verse An Acrostick James art thou gone And behind left us here Alas Yet we 'l rejoyce thou dost appear Majesty to see which on Earth thou did'st blazen E'ne when the times were Evil a dang'rous season Sure thou by Faith did'st live and not by reason Farewell we need not bid thee now thou art treated In or with pleasures by him that defeated That subtle Enemy by his dearest blood That would have kept us from being ever good Or happy there where thou art gone t' enjoy No filthy pleasures that our souls annoy James Fitton Anagram See I am not fit Note Sift I am Blest James thou art not fit as here thou wert But now we Note and Sift yea hope thou art Epitaph HEre lyes he that Conquer'd Death And Tryumph'd o're it while h 'had breath And now he 's gone Heaven to shew What Victories he got below By W. W.