Saints Memorials, Elegy 3
An ELEGIE ON THE DEATH of that much Lamented And no less wanted, Industrious Labourer in GOD's VINEYARD, The Reverend Mr. RALPH VENNING, Who quitted this Vale of Tears, And put on Immortality The 10th day of this Instant March, 1673/4.
—Fretum vitae gaudeate Carina
Tranavit—Tutum tenet Anchorà portum;
Nunc hilaris, ventos ridet, tumidasque Procellas.
HArk! how our Sion with Heart-piercing Groans,
Her Chariots & her Horsmen's loss bemoans;
See! how each Pious blubber'd Cheek doth wear
The sad Ennamel of a Briny Tear;
Each Soul turns a Close Mourner in its Cell;
And ev'ry Tongue becomes a Passing-Bell:
Must good Men still dye first, and is there gone
Another Cedar in our Lebanon?
Are Holy pow'rful Preachers snatch'd so fast?
They're Pretious, Death, Oh! do not make such wast.
Well may the Scarlet Whore begin her Tricks,
Such Lights pust out, threatens our Candlesticks;
And we may fear that God intendeth wars,
When he thus fast calls home's Embassadors.
Sweet Pious Venning could no longer stay,
Caryl in Glory beckon'd him away,
Whilst Heav'n to lend more moysture to our Eyes,
At his remove in Tears did Sympathize,
But Love and Zeal appear'd so Chill below,
They soon congeal'd each falling drop to snow.
Yet that white Robe the Earth put on, did prove
But a black Foil to what he wears above.
Go, happy Saint! I knew 'twas not a Shrine
Of Flesh could lodge so pure a Soul as thine;
I saw it labour (in a holy scorn
Of living dust and ashes) to be sworn
A heavenly Quirister; it sigh'd and groan'd
To be dissolv'd from Mortal, and Enthron'd▪
Amongst his fellow-Angels, there to sing
Perpetual Anthems to his Heavenly King:
He was a stranger to his house of Clay,
Scarce own'd it, but that necessary stay
Mis-call'd it his, and only zeal did make
Him love the Building for the Builders sake.
Amongst the throng that croud to Sacrifice
To's Memory the Torrents of their Eyes,
Let me (although a Stranger unto those
That Weep in Rhyme, though oft I Mourn in Prose)
Water his Herse, since my Big-bellied eyes
Long for deliv'ry at his Obsequies,
Wherein what Art and Nature both deny,
Grief and the Subjects Merits may supply:
For who e're writes but truth of him will be
Slander'd by Ignorance with Poetry;
And those that speak not half his worth in Verse,
The Sensual crew may think Idolaters.
But flattery can never reach his State.
We only praise, to make men Imitate,
And so must speak in sober terms: for know,
If Saints in Heav'n can hear things here below,
A Lye, though in his Praise, would make him frown
And chide us, when in Glory he comes down
With his dear Lord to Iudge the World, and pay
Each Soul Rewards according to its way.
He was no Iingling Drolster of the times,
That as on Stage, up to a Pulpit climes
To trifle out an hour, Tickle the Ear;
And Lullaby their Heads to sleep that hear,
Whose Preachments are but a Romantick Clatter,
A Sea of words, but scarce a drop of matter;
Some Pye-bald scraps of new Philosophy,
Or Dough-bak'd Dictates of Morality;
Nor was he of that rash unpolisht Race,
Whose Sluttish hands do Sacred things disgrace.
Knowledge and Zeal in him so sweetly met,
His Pulpit seem'd a second Olivet,
Where from his Lips he would deliver things,
As though some Seraphim had clap'd his Wings;
His painful Sermons were so neatly drest,
As if an Antheme were in Prose exprest;
Yet quick and pow'rful, that without controul,
They reach'd the Heart, and pierc'd the very Soul.
Oh! what an excellent Surgeon has he been,
To set a Conscience (out of Joynt by sin.)
He at one blow could wound and heal, whilst all
Wondred to finde a Purge, a Cordial:
His Manna-breathing-Sermons often have
Given our good Thoughts new Life, our bad a Grave.
His life was th' use of's Doctrine still annext,
And all his Actions Comments on his Text.
He made a Christian Frame of Heart appear
So Imitable, that Preach'd ev'ry where;
Nor owe we less to his Ingenious Quill,
Whereby (although now Dead) he Preaches still;
The way to Happiness he plainly show'd,
And how Canaan with Milk & Hony flow'd;
To things worth thinking on, he did apply,
And still sought to promote true Piety:
Sins dreadful Plague-sore, which none should endure,
He soon discovers, and prescribes a Cure;
And when's quaint wit brought forth a Paradox,
His Christian Spirit made it Orthodox.
In life, he taught to dye, and now did give
In death, a great example how to live.
Fond Earth then cease, and let thy childish eyes
Ne'r weep for him thou ne'r knew'st how to prize;
But if you needs must weep, Oh come, come in
Ye multitudes his pains have heal'd of Sin;
If you'll be grateful Debtors, pay him now
Some of those Tears which he laid out for you.