Living Loves Betwixt Christ and Dying Christians, Poems
POEMS, And ELEGIES On the Death of Mr. JEREMIAH WHITAKER.
On the Death of my dear Friend Mr. Jeremiah Whitaker.
IF death be but a ſervant ſent to call
The ſouls of Saints to their original:
Dear St thine was a noble ſoul, to whom
Three Meſſengers were ſent to call thee home;
A ſtone, an ulcer, and a gangrene too,
Three deaths to haſtē that which one ſhould do.
'Twas not becauſe thy ſoul was deeper ſet
Then ours within its houſe of clay; nor yet
Becauſe thou wert unwilling to depart
Thither; where long before had been thine hear… ▪
They were not ſent to hale by violence
A ſoul that lingered when 'twas called hence.
God ſhewd how welcome one death was to thee
Who did, ſo meekly entertain all three.
Thus many deaths Gods Iſrael did incloſe,
The ſea before, behind a ſea of foes,
On either ſide the jaws of mountains high.
No way from death but unto death to flie.
Not to deſtroy them, but to let them ſee
The power of love, which then would ſe… them free.
Thus Jobs four Meſſengers which did relate
The doleful ſtory of his ruin'd ſtate
And his three friends, which acted Satans part
(He on his fleſh, and theſe upon his heart)
Who by diſputing him unto a curſe
Would make his ſpirits tormēts the far worſe,
Were by Gods wiſe diſpoſal ſent to ſhow
The ſtrength he on his Champion would beſtow.
Thus Painters put dark grounds, where they intend
To overlay with fineſt gold, & lend
By deeper ſhadows luſter to that face,
On which they mean their choiceſt skill to place.
Thus workmen ſeaſon much with ſun & wind
Thoſe greateſt beams which muſt the building binde
Whilſt ſmaler peeces haply are put in
When they come bleeding from the wood & green.
Oft where is greateſt grace, God's pleas'd to ſend
Great conflicts thoſe great graces to cōmend
As the ſix finger'd Giants ſword did bring
The more renown to little Davids ſling.
The vanquiſht Lion, and the conquered Bear
Prepar'd that holy head a Crown to wear.
The Angel wraſtled firſt, and then did bleſs
And made the greater ſervant to the leſſe.
Pain was to great for thee, Gods grace for pain,
And made the greater ſerve the leſſe again.
Thy pains ſerv'd thee to glory, and did ſit
The head on which a Crown of life muſt ſit.
This is Gods method to fetch joy from grief,
To turn our ſorrows unto our relief,
To ſave by killing and to bring to ſhore
By the ſhips planks which was quite broke before.
And thus a barren womb firſt took the ſeed
Which did ſix hundred thouſand people breed.
That ſeed too muſt from knife and alter riſe,
And be before a fire a ſacrifice.
Great Preacher of thine heavenly Fathers will
Thy tongue did many years with Manna fill.
Thy life out-preacht thy tongue, O bleſſed ſtrife!
Thy ſickneſſe the beſt Sermon of thy life.
Before each Doctrine muſt be prov'd anew,
Thine end was one great proof that all was true.
Before thou preacht by weeks, but now by houres,
Each minute taught thy mourning Auditors,
Each patient groan, and each beleeving eye
Was a new Sermon in Brachygraphy.
When nature roars without repining words,
Grace in the mouth whē in the bowels ſwords,
In midſt of torments to triumph o're hell,
To feel Gods Arrows, yet his praiſes tell.
Through thickeſt clouds to ſee the brighteſt light,
In blackeſt darkneſs to have cleareſt ſight,
And with our Lord to cry, my God, my God
Upon a Croſſe under the ſharpeſt rod.
This is indeed to preach; this is to ſhow
Faiths triumph over natures greateſt wo.
Then welcome fiery Serpēts ſcortching ſting,
Which did thee thus to th' brazen Serpent bring.
Then welcom Whale, which though it firſt devour,
Renders at laſt the Prophet to the ſhore.
Well might'ſt thou bear the ſtone which death did throw,
Who hadſt the white ſtone the new name to ſhow:
Wel mightſt thou be with ſuch an ulcer calm
Whoſe ſoul was heal'd before with heavens balm.
When ſpirits wounds are cur'd though nature groan,
An heart of fleſh can heal a back of ſtone:
Let conſcience have her feaſt, and let fleſh roare,
This pain ſhal make the others joy the more,
As many times thoſe flowers moſt fragrant ſmell
Which neareſt to ſōe noiſom weeds do dwel.
Thus have you ſeen the forge moſt clearly glow,
On which the Smith doth drops of water throw.
Keen froſts make fire the hotter, & deep night
Cauſeth coeleſtial lamps to ſhine more bright.
And by a dear Antiperiſtaſis,
The childs diſtreſs ſweetens the father kiſs.
A wounded body yields to a ſound ſoul
The joys of this do th' others paines controle.
As in the day that the Sun beams appear
All other leſſer ſtars do diſappear.
When heaven ſhines and divine love doth▪ raign,
The ſoul is not at leaſure to complain.
Internal joyes his heart ſo well compoſes,
That they have judg'd their flames a bed of Roſes.
Mr. Gataker. Mr. Whitaker.
But what ſhall England do from whence are lopt,
Two of her richeſt acres to heaven dropt.
By loſſe of theſe two acres ſhee's more poor,
Then if ſhe'had loſt a hundred Lordſhips more.
'Twere a good purchaſe to gain theſe agen,
By giving to the ſea all Lincoln-fen.
Two little mines of gold do far ſurpaſſe
Huge Mannors where th' whole veſture is but graſſe.
Learn we by them what al men wil once ſay,
One Pearch of heaven, 's worth the whole globe of clay.
Ed. Reynolds. D. D.
To the memory of Mr. Jeremy Whitaker powerful in Prayer and Preaching, pious in life, patient in ſickneſſe, &c.
NAy, now forbear; for pity ſake give o're,
You that would make the Clergy none, or poor:
We are made miſerable enough this year,
That we have loſt our Reverend Whitaker;
Loſ…e above Deans and Chapters! had but he
Liv'd ſtil & preacht—Ziba take all (for me.)
Nay I beleeve, had Sacrilegious hands
Finger'd our poor Remains of Tyths, & Lands
Whilſt he ſurviv'd they had but ſin'd in vain,
Whitaker would have pray'd them back again,
As Luther did a young mans ſoul repeal
Giv'n to the Devil under hand and Seal.
A Chariot and an Horſman we have loſt
In whoſe each ſingle pray'r incamptan Hoſt.
How have I heard him (on ſome ſolemn day
When doubtful War could make all London pray)
Mount up to heav'n with armed crys & tears,
And rout as far as York the Cavileers,
Have you not ſeen an early-riſing Lark
Spring from her turf, making the Sunne her mark;
Shooting her ſelf aloft, yet highe…, higher,
Till ſhe had ſung her ſelf into heav'ns Quire?
Thus would he riſe in pray'r, and in a trice
His ſoul become a Bird of Paradiſe,
And if our faint devotions prayers be;
What can we call his leſſe then Extaſie?
On his Preaching.
If with th' Almighty he prevailed ſo,
Wonder not that he wonders wrought below;
The ſon of conſolation, and of thunder
Met both in him, in …thers are aſunder.
He was (like Luke) Phyſitian of both kindes,
Wrought cures upon mens bodies and their mindes.
The falling ſickneſſe of Apoſtaſie,
Dropſie of drunkenneſſe, prides trimpany,
The Megrim of opinions new, or old,
Palſy of unbelief, Charities Cold,
Luſts burning Feaver, Angers Calenture,
The Collick in the conſcience he could cure:
Set the ſouls broken bone…; by holy Art
He hath diſſolv'd the ſtone in many a heart
Harder then that he dy'd of.—O come in,
Yee multitudes whom he hath heal'd of ſin,
And thereby made his debtors—pay him now
Some of thoſe tears which he laid out for you;
Intereſt-tears I mean, for ſhould you all
Weep over him both uſe, and principal
'Twould waſh away the ſtone, which covers him
And make his Coffin (like an Ark) to ſwim.
Now wipe thine eyes (my Muſe) and ſtop thy verſe,
(Thy ink can only ſerve to black his herſe)
Yet (ſtay) I'le drop one tear, ſigh one ſigh more,
'Tis this: Although my Poetry be poor,
O what a mighty Prophet ſhould … be,
Had this Elija's mantle falne to me!
Oh might I live his life! I'de be content
His ſore diſeaſes too ſhould me torment,
And if his Patience could mine become,
I would not be afraid of Martyrdome.
Robert Wilde.
Upon the Pious, and painful Preacher Mr. Jeremy Whitaker.
An Epitaph.
I Eremy's not here into the dungeon thrown,
'Tis heav'ns Whit-acre (onelyonly) newly Mown;
Now Angel-reapers gather'd have to Barne
The ſeedſman of Gods Word like full ripe Corne.
In teares he ſow'd, & now the heav'nly Q…ire
To give him joy of Harveſt all conſpire.
In his ſick bed this Paradox we found,
The thorny, and the ſtony are good ground.
The gowt and ſtone (as milſtones) ground the man
To fineſt flower for Mancher; here no Bran
Theſe ſiſting times could finde: nere did man ſay,
The Preacher ſpake as mealy-mouth'd to day.
Gallants (you mealy heads & capes that have)
Go take perfumed powder from his grave,
The duſt off's feet was beautiful, and he
Your powder; and your looking-glaſs may be.
His life a Sermon was, his duſt doth cry
All fleſh is graſſe, go home, and learn to die.
England may ever glory, Rome deſpaire
In Whit ac…e i'th Pulpit, and i'th Chaire.
Thomas Hodges, B. D.
An Elegy upon the Death of Mr Whitaker.
IF paſſion can make Poets, or grief raiſe
Expreſſions great enough to ſpeak thy praiſe,
Then might …, Whitaker, thy worth reherſe;
And with my ſtrowings deck thy ſacred Herſe.
A Synod's only fit to ſpeak thy fall,
And bear a part in this their Funeral.
Divines muſt grieve that with thee tomb'd doth lie.
What now we vainly ſeek, Divinity.
If we would hear ſuch pray'rs as could heaven move
And tune the ſpheres into a Quire of love
Sweeter then Angels Anthemes, then we muſt
Ranſack thy grave, and reinſpire thy duſt.
There ſcatter'd lies that voice, which could inſpire
All hearts, and fill them with an holy fire
As flames get flames: Who thunder did defie
Six words of thine could melt, and purify
Such Callous ſouls, which at their ſins ne're vext.
Did finde thy Sermons keener then the Text.
Thy Doctrine ſtill was edg'd againſt mens crimes
And ſerv'd to lance the ulcers of the times:
Who now ſhall teach the wicked their ſad doomes?
Or elſe convince that faith by hearing comes?
For whoſoe're heard thee, were caught by th' eare
And went out converts, that came curious there.
But thoſe who n…'re were wearied with thy voice
Do now complain of too much length and noiſe.
For ſince, bleſt O…ator, thou parted'ſt hence,
The Pulpit only ſuffers violence.
Edw. Bagſhaw.
On the much lamented death of that Reverend man of God, Mr. Jeremiah Whitaker, his dear friend and old neighbour, both in City and Countrey.
IF Reaſon, Vertue, Wiſdom make a man,
If Faith, Hope, Charity the Chriſtian;
If faithful, uſeful, cheerful grace a friend,
Arts, Tongues, choice Wit, rare Memory commend
The Scholar; if Humanity, Divinity,
Candor, Humility, bowels, integrity;
If parts, pains, zeal, ſound Doctrine, utterance, tears,
Faith, courage, prudence, patience, faſting, prayers,
Succeſs crown Preacher; Lo, of thouſands ten
That Man, Friend, Chriſtian, Scholar, Preacher then.
Never in times unfixt a man more fixt;
Never in heart ſo pure, graces more mixt;
Mildnes with boldnes, courage with courteſie;
High parts, low thoughts, yielding with conſtancy:
Well to conceive and ſpeak, to ſpeak and do,
And do ſo much, ſo much to ſuffer too.
For Love a Jonathan, for Truth Nathanael;
For Meekneſſe Moſes▪ and for courage Daniel;
Call'd when a child a ſecond Jeremiah;
For ſpirit, prayer, power the third Eliah,
For firmneſſe C…phas, for ſympathy a Paul,
For pains, ſucceſs exceeding moſt or all.
One thing was lacking yet to make him higher,
As gold, or Job, he muſt into the fire.
As gold, or Job he was unto the laſt,
For patience prov'd, Integrity held faſt.
Who ere ſaw ſuch ſharp pains? heard ſuch ſweet prayers?
Strong cryes, but ſtronger faith, praiſes with tears?
Ou… Lord by ſuffering did to perfection grow:
In ſuffering obedience he did learn and ſhow,
This man of God came to that altitude
By ſuffering, of ſore pains, that multitude.
The racking Gowt & the tormenting Stone,
In Kidneys Ulcers two, in bladder one,
Made pains ſharp, ſore, long, thick, but reſpite ſmall;
Yet faith and patience overcame them all.
Now after well ſpent life, and reſtleſſe pains,
And heavē aſſur'd, we reckon death for gains:
Death when by ſelf deſired, by friends bewayl'd,
And a ſweet memory left have ſtill prevail'd
To call dead happy. Then our loſs to thee
Was greateſt gains compleat felicity.
Weep Berm'ſey, London wail, mourn England all,
He…e did thy Crown, Chariots & Horſmen fall.
John Sheffield, Paſtor of Swithins London-ſtone.
Of the ſame Author.
OLd Jeremy a Prophet was and childe,
Yet was a brazen wall and Pillar ſtil'd.
He liv'd in troublous times, ſad changes ſaw,
He ſuffered much, yet kept he faſt Gods Law.
By all good honour'd by enemies approved:
By many cenſur'd, by none faulty proved.
He dealt with perſons higheſt, and with low;
He warned all, but wiſhed no mans woe.
Son of Contenti…n called when of peace,
The greateſt friend and of his Lands increaſe.
He preached much of Chriſt & Goſpel-days,
The Covenant new he taught, and its rich grace.
Yet was his laſt a doleful lamentation,
Sad to himſelf, ſadder to the Nation.
Thou art or waſt the ſame. His Baruch he
Companion had to him, let me to thee.
An Elegy upon the much lamented death of my late dear and reverend Friend Mr. Jeremiah Whitaker.
ENgland wil ſoon grow poor, if in one year
Kent loſe a Wilſon, we a Whitaker.
A Thames, and Medway from our heads ariſe,
Their ſtreams our tears, their channels are our eyes.
Our many loſſes call for teares, not fewer;
The breſt a Baſon makes the eye an Ewer.
No longer (now) ſhall Iſis part the Burrough
From London, ſince that both ſides meet in ſorrow.
Not (as of old) by ſtriving whether ſide
Should for their own obtain the Silver tide;
No, not to gain the water wee'l contend;
But wee'l by weeping ſtrive who moſt can ſpend.
Conduits give wine (indeed) when th' Crown's put on,
Now run they tears, becauſe our Crown is gone.
Our Friends Deceaſe and Death our troubles were,
We nor his Sickneſs, nor his Med'cines bear.
His Pulpit he eſteem'd his reſt, his bed;
We thought his bed a Pulpit, where he read
Lectures of patience; theſe he loudly utter'd,
By ſilence oft he groan'd, but never mutter'd.
Of mournful Magdalen, Bermonſey bears
The name, and with her Title hath her tears,
And our dear Whitaker was Jeremy
In name, in weeping, and in Prophecy;
But he (no Prophet now) no ſackcloth wears,
His work is done, and ſo are all his teares.
May Bermonſey of him the late poſſeſſor
Mourn for her ſins, but joy in his ſucceſſor.
GUIL. JENKYN, Paſtor of Black-fryers, London.
Ʋpon the Death of the Reverend, his never to be forgotten friend, Mr Jeremiah Whitaker.
O That affection could but make a Poet!
If grief could rhime with Art, ſure I ſhould do it,
(Though ſo diſuſ'd to verſify.) We'l try:
The Subject's ſad, and ſo's the Poetry.
The tender ſon that never ſpake before,
To ſave his fathers life turn'd Orator.
Shall I forbear in ſilence? Write I muſt,
When ſuch a friend lies ſleeping in the duſt.
The bleſſed Saint, dear Jeremy is gone,
And who ſhall write his lamentation?
Had we his eyes (which always ſhowry were)
Such is our loſs, each word ſhould have a tear!
Another Whitaker in a Coffin plac'd,
The firſt the Chair, & this the Pulpit grac'd.
Reader, would'ſt know his worth, then caſt thy eye
Upon the Narrative; there's his excellency.
Rings hold not Hiſtories; who can rehearſe
His vaſt perfection in a narrow Verſe!
Take Vertues, Graces, Gifts, and all you can,
All are concentred in this holy man.
A brighter ſtar in all our orb there's none,
None do exceed, few equal him that's gone.
Ah pious ſoul! What mortal man can ſpeak out
Thy rare humility! Who ere meanly thought
Of thee beſides thy ſelf? What mov'd thy paſſions,
But Eulogies and Commendations?
'Tis well th' art gone from us, ſhouldſt thou but look
Into and read thy praiſes in this book,
I'm ſure by this thou would'ſt be ſomewhat moved,
And Simeon himſelf ſhould be reproved.
He ſpeaks thy worth ſo much, & yet but little
'Tis ſcarce enough (but true to every tittle.)
Thy perſonal endowments who would commend,
Should neither know where to begin nor end.
Thy Miniſter'al accompliſhments were rare,
Thy conſtant pains, thy diligence, thy care
For ſouls in holy things. who can expreſſe?
Thou might'ſt have longer liv'd, had'ſt thou liv'd leſſe.
O melting Suppliant! who e're did know
Thy prayers to heaven without ſome tears to go?
The ſecret raviſhings which poor ſouls have found
When from thy mouth the Word of life did ſound!
Our very Pulpits wonder where thou art,
In wch thou didſt ſuch ſpiritual gifts impart:
But 'tis enough! we'l weep the reſt; we can
Launch out no farther in this Ocean.
Could prayers and teares have kept thee here, thy ſtay
It had been longer in this houſe of clay.
Pray'r barr'd thee in ſome time, till death would throw
Open the door by force to let thee go;
At laſt thy ſoul did finde the way to bliſſe,
And now is ſteep'd in heavens happineſſe.
O bleſſed change for thee! the painful bed
Is now a Throne, where not a tear is ſhed.
No diſmal groāings now from thee do come,
But everlaſting Triumphs in their room.
Farewel (bleſt Saint) farewel, and ſince 'tis thus;
We'l haſt to thee, thou wilt not come to us.
THO. JACOMB. of M. Ludg.
Ʋpon the death of the reverend, Learned, and Faithful Servant of Jeſus Chriſt, Mr. Jeremiah Whitaker, late Miniſter of Magdalene Bermonſey in Southwark.
WHat ſpeaks this ſudden ſtorm of briniſh teares?
What means this doleful volley in mine ears?
Is the Sun darkned? Do the Lamps above,
Reſolve their fiery ſtation to remove,
And ſhine no more on earth? Doth the Creation
Intend to melt it ſelf with Lamentation?
The holy Whitaker is ſtept away,
Late Angel of the Church of Bermonſey.
A Pillar in Gods houſe, a ſweet Muſitian
That gladded drooping hearts; A ſoul-Phyſician,
A Sun whoſe beams did conſolation ſhine,
A faithful, skilful guide, a rare Divine.
He was a Watchman could not wel be blamed;
A workman needed not to be aſhamed.
No Proteus, that could change to every ſhape,
No ſervile ſpirited Preacher, that could ſcrape
And cringe to pleaſe the luſts of wanton men:
He could not ſay, and then unſay agen.
Learned, yet very humble, prudent, dear
To God, to men; meek, holy, wiſe, ſincere.
He lov'd the Truth, he hated Hereſie,
A ſtrong oppoſer of all Blaſphemy.
His heart was toward a holy Reformation,
But ſet againſt a godleſſe toleration
Of lewd Opinions. Great was his care
To keep the holy Covenant which he ſware.
The marrow of Gods O acles was i… him,
No Scripture Myſtery was hidden from him.
Caſes of Conſcience he could well unty,
Scruples and Doubts from Scripture ſatisfie.
His holy Function was his conſolation,
His Pulpit work to him was recreation.
His pray'rs were zealous, heavenly ſteep'd in teare:
His Doctrine Orthodox, convincing clear.
Ful of the ſpirit of life and Power, his words
Did pierce like nailes, did cut like ſharpned ſwords:
He durſt tell Ahab of his great oppreſſion;
What! doſt thou kill and after take poſſeſſion?
He durſt tell Herod though it coſt his life,
'Tis wickedneſſe to take thy brothers wife.
Had ſtrangers heard him Preach, they would have ſed,
Sure John the Baptiſt's riſen from the dead.
His carriage holy, harmleſſe, free from ſtrife,
His Sermons were imprinted in his life.
His body was infirm, diſeaſed, weary,
His ſoul ſtill vigorous, active, ſtrong and cheary.
The more the Cabinet did waſte and wear,
The brighter did the Jewel ſtil appear.
Goodneſs of nature made the world admire him,
The brightneſs of his grace made Saints deſire him.
The Church on earth hath loſt a precious plant,
The Church in heaven hath gain'd a glorious Saint.
Ra. Robinſon, Miniſter of Mary Wolnoth, Lumbard ſtreet London.
Jeremiah Whitaker.
ANAGRAM, I have hit everi Mark.
THou didſt not ſhoot at rovers in the dark,
Thy poliſht ſhaft could hit the ſmalleſt mark,
Gods glory was thy ſcope, his Word thy guide,
His ſtable Spirit did teach thee to divide
The word of truth aright: A ſignal Teacher,
An uſeful, pious, fruitful, powerful Preacher
God made thee to his Chu…th. None better knew
Then Whitaker to carve to each his due:
The mark of ſaving grace was firſt obtain'd,
And now the mark of glory thou haſt gain'd:
Enjoy it; and let other Archers ſee
Thy happy pattern, and take aim by thee.
Ra. Robinſon Miniſter of Mary Wolnoth; Lombardſtreet, London.
Ʋpon the death of his moſt dear friend, that eminent ſervant and Miniſter of Jeſus Chriſt, Mr. Jeremiah Whitaker, Paſtor of Mary Magdalen Bermonſey in Southwark.
THus Cedars fall, thus Stars do diſappear,
Prophets though Angels, yet but mortals are.
Our Prophet Jeremy's dead, and now there's none
That's fit to make his Lamentation.
Plato once wiſht that vertue could appear
To mortal eyes, his wiſh was granted here.
If any Breviator would comprize
All vertues in a word, then let his eyes
Be fixed here, keep Whitaker in minde.
And there you have the vertues all defin'd.
Or would you know what all the graces are?
In ſhort hand writing, they make Whitaker.
Would any have the Bible in a word,
And what the vaſteſt comments can afford?
Read Whitakers Works, peruſe his converſation,
And there's the Bible and th' Interpretation;
That Book was in his breſt ſo well ingroſt,
He could reſtore it, if it had been loſt.
He that by thee (bleſt Saint) ſhall calculate.
Will finde that Miracles are not out of dare.
Who e're was ſo far bleſt to hear him teaching
Was prone to think a Seraphim was preaching.
'Twas Auſtin's wiſh i'th'Pulpit Paul to hear;
He had been ſatisfied, hadſt thou been there.
Me thought when thy ſweet ſoul was poured out
In fervent prayer, I began to doubt
Whether Elias was come down again,
And mounting heaven-ward with his fiery train.
In this thou didſt excel; he ſcal'd the ſort
Alone, but thou thy hearers didſt tranſport.
But whither goes my doleful Muſe? to ſpan
I'th'hollow of thy f…ſt the Ocean.
Or to deſcribe his boundleſs hidden worth?
Nor tongue nor pen can ſet his praiſes forth.
This only I will adde, he that would draw
His Portraiture, muſt uſe Apelles Law,
When to paint Lady Venus with a grace,
This beauty gave a hand, that gave a face;
The third a colour gave, the next a feature,
Al joyn'd together made that lovely creature.
In the ſame manner, whoſoe're would paint
The beauty of this thrice illuſtrious Saint,
Muſt rifle all the world, and look apart
For that wch ſhines moſt in each noble heart.
One muſt Humility give, another Zeal,
Another Prudence brethrens rents to heal.
Learning a fourth in its high'ſt elevation.
A fifth muſt give a ſpotleſs converſation.
His preaching one man cannot imitate;
Here we muſt have Beza's triumvirate.
And when we'ave travel'd all the world to find
Or make a copy of this matchleſſe minde,
When other mens perfections al do fail,
We muſt with that old Limner draw a vail
Upon his peerleſſe parts, or for the reſt,
Say, here lies that which cannot be expreſt.
Sic flevit Mat. Poole Miniſter of Michaels at the Quern in London.
An Epitaph.
HEre lies Saint Whitaker, the reſt
Cannot, need not be expreſt.
Great ſorrows noiſe not, Give ſome years
For the world to ſpeak in tears.
First this age muſt vent its grief
In ſighs, the next may finde relief,
And joyn their ſorrows to compute
Till grief returning ſtrikes them mute,
And makes them ſilently confeſſe
Their loſs; his worth was fathom'eſſe.
Another Epitaph.
UNder this ſtone intombed lies
An heap of contrarieties,
One that's dead, yet doth remaine
For perſon, place, and work the ſame.
His precious perſon was combin'd
Of ſoul and body firmly joyn'd.
So ſtill theſe parts though diſtant, yet
In Chriſt are to each other knit.
To earth his body was confin'd,
Alwayes heaven had and hath his minde,
His work was preaching, ſo 'tis ſtill,
And preach his name for ever will.
Mat Poole.
To the memory of the learned that eminently Religious Miniſter of the Goſpel (his Reverend brother deceaſed) Mr. Jeremiah Whitaker.
WHitaker ſleeps; ſpices you need not bring
For's body; death it ſelf's embalm'd to him.
Ah bleſſed Saint! his Sermons were not done
When preach'd, he liv'd the Application:
When ſick, his pangs were mercy, for when e're
A ſigh was breath'd out, God breath'd in a pray'r.
Lie gently on him duſt, this ſeed is ſown
To ſpring again at th' Reſurrection.
Oh for a verſe in black! Reader prepare thus
For every drop of ink to melt a tear.
Yet ſtay, with grief there's cauſe of joy: then
Joy ſhal ſhed tears for him, and grief for us.
Benjamin Needler. Miniſter of the Goſpel at Margarce Moſes Friday-ſtreet, Lond.
In obitum eximii tam Doctrinâ quam pietate Theologi, Jeremiae Whitakeri, funebre 'ΕΤΚΩΜΙΑ 'ΣΤΙΚΟΝ.
Dr. Gouge. Dr. Walker. Mr. Whitaker.
DEfleat occiduos aetas ingrata Prophetas,
Liquit Evangelicum collapſa ſynaſtria caelum:
Lugentem & moeſto Whitakerus funere mundum
Deſeruit; lachrymis ſquallentem liquerit urbem:
Jam pereat mendax de florido opinio ſeclo,
Mortuus hic Vates noſtrum ſepelivit honorem,
Corruit & Verax foecundi gloria roſtri:
Patronum amiſit Pauper, populuſ que Lutherum,
Amiſitque pium mutilata eccleſia gnatum,
Paſtorem coetus, Patrem amiſere Miniſtri:
Gens mala praeconem, immotam ſynoduſque columnam.
J. Wells, Old Jewry Lond. Paſtor.
To the memory of his dear friend and Paſtor, Mr. Jeremiah Whitaker, deceaſed.
BEhold the ſhadow whoſe admired worth
Nor pen, nor tongue is able to ſet forth!
He whoſe vaſt ſoul walk'd through the Iſle of Man,
Is here confined in a ſhorter ſpan.
Whoſe worth the world though 'twere as big again
Were much too ſhort and narrow to contain.
Sweet were his life and death, his well ſpent dayes
Began with goodneſs, and expir'd with praiſe:
His lamp was ever burning, never hid;
And when his tongue preacht not, his actions did;
And to his death he ſtill fought faiths good fight,
And then his Lamp exchang'd his borrowed light
For an immortal luſtre, and here lies,
Enſhrin'd, not dead, for Vertue never dies.
R. B. Pariſhioner.
Upon the Life and Death of that precious Servant of God, Mr. Jeremiah Whitaker, whoſe name (like that of his Lord and Master) is an ointment poured forth.
JEREMIAH WHITAKER, or Etymologie.
He ſhall exalt God.
His work, Jer. 20. 13.
God ſhall exalt him.
His wages, Jer. 5. 10.
White-aker.
A field white for Harveſt, John 4. 35.
His fitneſſe for Heaven.
BLeſt Saint, how well thy name and worth agree!
In name and office thou art Jeremie.
A God-exalter, and by God exalted;
A Prieſt, a Prophet: one that never halted
Twixt God & Baal, twixt the truth & error,
Nor couldſt be made to ſtart for hope or terrour.
Heroick Champion, thou deaths venemous ſting
Haſt conquer'd, and with Chriſt now raign'ſt as King.
A wiſe and faithful Labourer for thy Lord,
To gather in his harveſt by the word,
Thou haſt approv'd thy ſelf to Earth and Heaven,
Witneſſe thy life and Doctrine purg'd from Leaven.
Both Labourer and Harveſt were thy part;
The former living, this thou dying art.
The Field being for Harveſt, Jer. White-aker
Is reapt, and of a better ſoile partaker.
Thy melting tears now cordial-water be.
Let me thy ſorrows taſte, thy joys to ſee.
Roger Drake Paſtor of Peters Weſt-cheap.
A Funeral Elegy upon the reverend his deare deceaſed friend, Maſter Jeremiah Whitaker.
O Let me weep, and even like a ſpring
Unto the ſea of grief ſome tribute bring.
Theſe cheeks of mine with tears bedew'd ſhall ſwell
For this Seraphique St. who lately fel.
To loſe a Friend is ſad, but for our Nation
To loſe a Jeremy is Lamentation.
Could he from death ſome way releaſed be
His vertues ſurely might have ſet him free;
But 'twas a debt; and what enflam'd deſire
Had he to leave his mantle and flie higher!
How ſhal I praiſe his worth, and not diſpraiſe?
Say more, and not ſay leſſe? darkning his rays.
Meekneſſe, humility in this Orbe ſhin'd,
In him the chaine of Graces was combin'd:
How was he fir'd with zeal, even frō his youth,
And though he loſt all, would hold faſt the truth.
With Jeremy he was a man of ſtrife,
Yet not for Tyths but Souls: this was his life;
A downright, upright man he was, a Star
Whoſe ſacred influence diffuſed far:
And that of theſe an end I may incloſe,
His faith in Chriſt he ſolely did repoſe.
This made him when he felt the ſharpeſt paine
Upon the flinty rack, not to complaine;
Nay when he at the point of death did lie,
Did as the milky Swan moſt gently die.
What did he die? his ſoul as in a C…ll,
In heav'ns bright Paradiſe is gone to dwell
Among the Cherubims, where he doth ring
With them that joyntly Hallelujahs ſing:
Where he for tears in joy doth much encreaſe,
Pleaſure doth him of former pain releaſe;
He never ſhall of Stone, or Ulcer heare,
He never need any more ſickneſſe feare.
Dear Saint! I ſooner had adorn'd thy hearſe,
But grief firſt vents by weeping, then by verſe.
Thomas Watſon, Paſtor of Stephens Walbrook, London.
Ʋpon the Death of that reverend Divine, Mr. Jeremiah Whiraker.
STay and lament all you that travel by;
'Tis ſin to paſſe, and not to caſt an eye
Upon this mournful ſpectacle, the herſe
Of one whoſe name can dignifie a verſe.
Loe here th' exuvium of that heavenly ſoul,
Who living did by's words & works controul
The pow'r of ſin and Satan & whoſe breath
Redeem'd poor ſouls from darkneſs, and from death.
And by his pious Doctrine did convince
The ſly Temptations of that airy Prince.
He whoſe whole life was a continued Tract
Of practical Divinity, each Act
A Sermon, and each word an explanation;
So that his Audionts might, by imitation
Of him, and of his life, to Heaven come,
Although they had been deaf, or he bin dumb.
But that Almighty pow'r who from above
Does all things order, and in whom we move
Wrapt all theſe treaſures up in brittle Clay;
Death gav't a crack, and ſo took all away.
And now our griefs amount to ſuch a ſum
That to expreſſe them beſt is to be Dumb.
They that can count their wealth, are counted poor,
And who can ſpeak his griefs can ſuffer more.
'Tis diminution to his worth, to weep
With ſingle tears, we his whole flock of ſheep
Joyne in one Lamentation, and let fall
Our general tears at this ſad Funeral
Of our Dear Shepherd, in whoſe fatal grave
Both he and we one joint interment have.
From hence there's no return for him to us,
But we muſt by degrees all follow thus.
He's gone before to uſher us, now dead
What all his life he wrought is perfected,
Living he ſhew'd the way to heaven, whither
Now dead he's gone to clear our paſſage thither.
Pariſhioners of Bermonſey.
FINIS.
ERRATA.
Reader,
BEſides the overſights of the Printer in falſe ſpelling, ill pointing, and miſquoting ſome Scripture proofs, thou art intreated to correct theſe Errata's following. p. 4. l. 8. for me, r. was. p. 6. l. 25. for hater, r. hatred. and l. 26. r. poyſonous ſting. p. 8. l. 9. r. in the. p. 9. l. 4. r. friends, and l. 13. for be, r. by, and l. 20. r. reviewing. p. 10. l. 3. for Firſt, r. viz. and l. 17. r. relations, and l. 23. r. diſcovereth, and l. 24. r. leſt, p. 11. l. 7. for diligent r. affectionate, and l. 9. r. diſſatisfactions. p. 13. l. 4. r. of my. p. 16. l. 27. for beautiful. r. bountiful. p. 13. l. 33. for him, r. himſelf. & l. 34. r. which did coſt. p. 20. l. 9. r. being alſo the fountaine. p. 21. l. 23. for theſe, r. the, p. 24. l. 12, r. which I have, p. 36. l. 22. for gods r. God. p. 46. l. 26. r. this, p. 47. l. 11. r. in his, p. 53. l. 1. r. Sermons, p. 58. l. 22. r. contemned.
End of the text · Simeon Ashe, Living Loves Betwixt Christ and Dying Christians (1654)