Sermon on the Death of John Nicoll, Poem
TO Mrs. MARGARET DU BOIS: ON The DEATH OF Her late vertuous Father, JOHN NICOLL, M.D.
Dignum laude virum muſa vetat mori,
Horat.
WHILE you, DU BOIS, command the tears to flow,
And every boſom beats with ſilent woe;
An infant Muſe awakes her dying fire,
And in a FUNERAL-SONG reſumes the lyre.
Permit me then in penſive ſtrains to mourn,
Join in thy grief, and echo groan to groan,
And drop a tear on NICOLL'S ſacred urn:
In mingled torrents let our grief flow down;
I weep the Friend, while you the Parent moan.
FORGIVE, immortal Shade! if aught can riſe
Warbled from duſt to the ſuperior ſkies,
A feeble mortal, who wou'd fain rehearſe
Thy deathleſs vertues in unfading verſe.
OH! ſpeak, DU BOIS, (thoſe joyleſs glooms diſpel)
You, whom he lov'd, his vertues beſt can tell;
Say when, for oft in converſe you were join'd,
What were the dictates of his holy mind?
What heavenly ſounds flow'd from his breaſt refin'd?
Oft' have I ſeen thee, when he ſpoke, rejoice
To hear the accents of a Father's voice;
To hear him ſoar above this dull abode,
And talk of Heaven, of Vertue, of his GOD:
What ſacred flames his glowing breaſt inſpir'd,
When from the world in ſilence he retir'd!
But now no more his raptur'd boſom glows;
No more the Church his heavenly tranſport knows;
Death, the grim TYRANT of the human-race,
Breathleſs enfolds him in her cold embrace.
LAMENT, ye PIOUS! ye religious PEW!
Whoſe boundleſs thoughts celeſtial joys purſue;
For, lo! the man for piety rever'd,
Who ſcarcely but thro' human frailty err'd;
Tho' grave religion ſhone around his head,
Promiſcuous lies among the vulgar dead!
While others mourn, lament ye numerous POOR!
Who never unreliev'd forſook his door:
His alms deſcended like the flowing light,
And Poverty look'd chearful in his ſight.
STRANGER to civil and religious ſtrife,
He paſs'd the ſtages of a peaceful life:
In youth he flouriſh'd o'er the youthful throng;
Thro' temperance ſevere his age was ſtrong;
No ſlow diſeaſes wore his frame away;
He fled at once, — impatient of delay.
So ſome tall OAK, the monarch of the woods,
Exalts his tow'ring ſummit to the clouds;
The ſpreading boughs extended o'er the plain,
From heat defend, and ſhelter from the rain;
Till by ſome furious ſtorm's deſtructive rage,
He falls, — the honour of a lengthen'd age.
A MAN ſo excellent who but muſt grieve
To loſe; yet Heaven rejoices to receive:
There he is gone ſublimeſt joys to prove
In the gay bow'rs that crown the ſeats above;
Loud ſongs among the bliſsful choir to raiſe,
And ſpend a glad eternity in praiſe.
To diſtant ſhores his ever-living name
Shall fly unſullied on the wings of fame.
CEASE then, DU BOIS, thy tears, — no more complain,
Nor weep an Angel, whom you lov'd a Man:
In youth immortal, ſee thy FATHER dreſt!
In robes celeſtial, ſee him ſtand confeſt!
All pain forever baniſh'd from his breaſt;
Among the SONS OF LIGHT, his glad compeers,
He ſees unnumber'd worlds, and treads the ſpheres.
WHEN nature into ruin ſhall be hurl'd,
And the laſt trump ſurprize th' aſtoniſh'd world;
When clad in glory, GOD's eternal SON
Shall ſit majeſtic on a radiant throne;
GOD-LIKE, thy NICOLL'S ſacred duſt ſhall riſe,
And his embodied ſpirit mount th' imperial ſkies.
BUT can his lov'd Idea from thee go,
Long as the vital ſtreams of nature flow?
Tho' friendſhip ceaſe, and love no more inſpire
The breaſts of lovers with a glowing fire;
Yet THINE ſhall ſacred laſt, THINE undecay'd,
Burn on thro' death, and animate thy Shade.
W. S.
End of the text · Ebenezer Pemberton, Sermon on the Death of John Nicoll (1743)