Faiths Victory Over Nature, Title page – Poem
FAITHS VICTORY over NATVRE: OR, The unparallel'd president of an unnaturally Religious Father.
Delivered in a SERMON Preached at the Funerals of the hopefull young Gentleman Master John Rushout: Son and Heire to Master JOHN RUSHOUT Merchant and Citizen of LONDON.
By NATHANAEL HARDY Master of Arts, and Preacher to the Parish of DIONIS Back-Church.
Was not Abraham our Father justified by works, when he had offered Isaac his son upon the Altar.
Seest thou how faith wrought with his works, and by works was faith made perfect,
JAM. 2.21, 22.
Transgreditur fides rationis fidem, humanae naturae usum, experientiae terminos, Bern.
Verus obediens mandatum non procrastinat, sed statim parat aures auditui, linguam voci, pedes itineri, manus operi; & se totum intus colligit ut mandatum peragat imperantis. Idem.
LONDON, Printed for Nathanael Webb, and William Grantham, at the Grey-hound in Pauls Church-yard, 1648.
To my Right Worthy FRIEND, Mr. JOHN RVSHOVT Of LONDON Merchant, and Inhabitant in the Parish of Dionis Back-Church, the blessings of the throne and footstool.
Honoured SIR,
IT was a sorrowfull losse occasioned the delivery of this Sermon in your eares, and the seasonable comfort you then found, caused those desires which (being to me commands) occasion the presenting of it to your eyes.
The tryall wherewith God hath been pleased to exercise you, cannot but be grievous, yet a patient sufferance and sanctified use will make it precious: no better means of support under, and benefit by this tryall then faith, which is both a powerfull Antidote against the crosse, and a skilfull Alchymist to extract spirituall advantage out of temporall losses.
It is true you have lost a hopefull son, but faith will eye God, as a wise and gracious Father. Charity comforts you in the hope that he hath gained, the enjoyment of glory by his dissolution: Faith will instruct you in the Christian art, how to gain increase of grace by this affliction. It is the justice of God that hee never punisheth without a cause, it is his mercy that he ordereth all to a good end, let repentance find out and bewail sin deserving, and faith will apprehend the benefit intended.
Oh divine grace of faith, many daughters have done worthily, but thou surmountest them all; thou regulatest our actions, and moderatest our passions, thou teachest us how to enjoy, and supplyest us in what wee want; by thee wee finde the sweetnesse of a God in the creature-comforts we have, and the sweetnesse of those comforts we lose in a God.
And now worthy Sir, what bitter counsell could I prescribe you then this of Faith? what fuller example of faiths energie could I set before you then that of Abraham, who by faith gave up that Isaac to God, whom God had conferr'd on him in love. The picture of this believing Patriark, offering up his obedient Isaac, you have delineated in the following Sermon.
Let Abrahams steps be your walk, and his bosome shall be your rest; imitate him as a son in the grace of Faith, and you shall be an heire together with him in the grace of life, whech is the prayer of him who is
Your devoted servant in all Christian and Ministeriall offices, NATH. HARDY.
Errata.
Page 4. line 23 devoute, the former l 28. for people r. people p. 6. l. 5.1. se transferre, p. 13. in marg pone Chrysost. p. 14. in marg. pone Chrysost.
Imprimatur, Ja. Cranford.
On the death of Master John Rushout, eldest Sonne of Master John Rushout, of London Merchant.
WHo slew all these? was Nimshi's sonne's demand,
When's will was done by false Samaria's hand,
When heads were heapt, and Nobles (by the rude)
Were made the many-headed multitude:
When slain Youth, and Beauty were heap'd on high,
Virtue and Strength pil'd with Nobility.
Who slew all these? each tear now seems to say,
The mourner drops by this sad heap of clay.
Nor doe they soloecise, for in Rushout's sonne
There's a heap'd funerall, though he be but one.
Logick is out, it's praecepts erre in this,
He is but one, and yet a number is.
Arithmetick mistakes in him, for we
If not divide, yet one may multiply.
Virtue and Beauty, Strength and Youth are here
Heap'd up and pil'd together: on this Biere
A summe of Graces are, Hee's a Totall than,
Not one of these, but might compleat a man.
The tears that from his Fathers eyes doe run,
Fall for but one Sonne, and yet not for One.
When he laments his Beauty so soon gone,
Doth he not Weep for his Dead Absolom?
He mourns and praises his obedient Will
'Tis for his Isaac sure those tears distill.
When he recounts the Wisdome of his Sonne,
And Sighs, sighs he not for his Solomon?
When how religious! and a tear let fall,
Then sure he weeps at Joseph's funerall.
Absolon, Isaac, Joseph, Solomon,
Are all deceas'd in this his onelyonly JOHN.
Who slew all these then? not the barbarous hand,
Of forreign stranger, nor the dire command
Of the Theeve's Captain, where the riddle's this,
Out laws obey, and rape obedience is.
No death abroad, strange ayre his breath supplies,
He travels and lives, but returns and dies.
Thus have we seen the Pearl or Diamond stone
(Brought to the cooler, from the hotter Zone)
Escape the threats of th' Rocks, and th' Oceans fome,
And yet in th' Harbour have been lost at home:
Having past the Pyrats, and the watry way,
Made, or the Customers, or the Thames his prey.
Is this the welcome thy return'd Natives have
O England? entertainment in a grave?
When to thy long'd for Soile thy Sonnes return,
Canst finde no lodging for them, but their Urn…?
When from strange Climates to their own they come
Has't no home for them, but their longest Home?
Fame calls thee Eden, if thou a Garden be,
'Tis such as Joseph's, the Sepulchre's in thee.
The terme's too good; since on thine none thou prey▪
Wee'l change thy name, thou art Acel…a.
Since now thy Bowels are with Funerals full,
Thou'rt or a field of bloud, or place of Scull.
Death dwels within thee, makes his Mansion here,
Hath ta'ne a Lease (we dread) for many years.
A Lease not made by Law, but War; yet good,
'Cause seal'd with Swords and written in our bloud.
Thus cruell art thou, and like to be, yet He
Hath cause to thank thee for thy crueltie.
In thee he dy'd, but to thy Sins and fears,
Thy Crown's of Cypresse, he a Laurel weare.
He rests in Peace secured from thy harmes,
Hears glad Hallelujah's, but thou Alarms.
The Grave and Heaven's his Arke, whilst that the floud
Sweeps thee away, he floats above thy Bloud.
The Grave and Heaven's his House, where he hid ly,
And the destroying-Angel passe him by.
Death leads to Life. He dy'd young, yet shall be,
A Youth as long-liv'd as Aeternitie.
J. THOMPSON.