AN

ELEGY

ON THE DEATH OF MY SISTER, MRS. ELIZABETH

BURROWS.

Come, sad Melpomene, and aid my verse,
While I Eliza's gentle name rehearse;
Tell how the saint in prime of life expir'd,
And from a world of sin and woe retir'd,
To dwell with Jesus in the realms of bliss,
Bought with his blood, and seal'd forever his.

Shall I repeat the sorrows of her soul ? No, Jesus' precious blood has made them whole: Shall I the troubles of her life relate ? They were so varied, num'rous, and so great, That none but their appointer can declare ; And those who in the like afflictions share. Shall I my subject make, that heavy rod Which brought her spirit home to dwell with God? Shall I unfold the melancholy scene? I would....but her command steps in between: She sleeps....she's safely lodg'd in Jesus' breast; Eternal silence dwell upon the rest;

Or, if it must be nam'd, then let it be
When Sol's bright beams are fled beyond the sea ;
When silver Cynthia glimmers o'er the plain,
And awful silence, midnight horrors reign;
Or, nature hush'd, attentive audience pays
To wakeful Philomel's impassion'd lays:
The bird would cease, the moon would turn more pale,
To hear me tell the sad, the mournful tale....
0, did the world her tragic story know !
The world would melt in sympathetic woe;
No stubborn heart so hard, that could forbear
The tender tribute of a pitying tear.
'Tis past....the race is run, the storm is o'er,
Eliza's landed on the peaceful shore.
Never shall I forget the solemn day,
When her Redeemer kiss'd her soul away,
To the pure realms of everlasting day.
Victorious death his swist approaches made ;
She met him unappalled, undismay’d;
Cried, “Come my Lord! my precious Jesus hear,
And in thy presence let me soon appear.”
'Twas done! a glorious angel stood confest, *
And bore Eliza to eternal rest.
Hail! happy spirit, dear celestial shade,
Wreaths of unfading splendors crown thy head:
My friend ! my sister! (if those sacred ties
Can bind immortal spirits in the skies)
How bless'd art thou ! from sin and sorrow free,

}

No more encompass'd with infirmity;
Thy tribulation-days are now no more,.
And thou art landed on the peaceful shore
Where no loud storms, no threat’ning thunders roar.
Thou dwell'st secure in yon bright world above,
Where all is harmony, and joy, and love ;
While I on earth remain a pilgrim still,
Confin’d in clay, but ’tis my Father's will ;
When he commands, my willing soul shall fly
To meet Eliza in th' etherial sky :
There, with one voice, united praise we'll sing
To our Almighty Saviour, and our king ;
And bless his boundless grace, supremely free,
Thro' the long ages of eternity :
Who, when we both desery'd eternal ire,
Snatch'd us as brands from sin's devouring fire ;
Shew'd our poor hearts his consolating face,
And made us willing subjects of his grace ;
And to thy hand the glorious prize has giv'n,
Tho' latest call'd on earth, the first to heav'n.
Till that bless'd hour, that wish'd-for time arrive,
Thy mem'ry in my heart shall still survive.
Swift let the moment come which shall unite
Thy own Maria to her friend in light;
Where, in extatic bliss, our souls shall prove,
The heights and depths of everlasting love!

981979A

AN

ELEGY:

OCCASIONED BY THE DEATH OF THE REV. DR. WOUDE,

PASTOR OF THE CALVINIST CHURCH IN THE

SAVOY

Go, happy Woude, clap thy bright wings, and soar

To the bright realms of everlasting day ; The happy seat of rest, the peaceful shore,

Where saints and angels tune the choral lay.

Go, take thy harp, and join the rapturous song,

That echoes thro' the bless'd etherial plains ; Swell the glad anthems of the ransom'd throng,

In the fair world where love immortal reigns.

The gospel's silver trump long hast thou blown,

And pointed sinners to the living way; With warning voice, their guilt and danger shewn,

And preach'd the blood that takes their guilt away.

Long hast thou fought the battles of the Lord;

Now, all victorious, lo! thou bear'st the palm ; Supported by the Spirit and the word;

And leaning on the mighty Saviour's arm.

Steadfast thou stood'st, tho' storms tumultuous rose;

But storms tumultuous can no more molest : More than triumphant over hosts of foes ;

Now all is calm composure in thy breast.

Hail, happy Woude! thro' many rolling years,

The saint, by love inspir’d, wak'd with his God : Now joyful in his presence, he appears

Welcome to all the glories of his Lord.

Here he beholds the lamb for sinners slain,

And crown'd with blessedness extreme, shall live Long as the great incarnate God shall reign;

And prove the choicest blessings God can give.

Then cease to weep, ye follow'rs of the lamb,

Who mourn your pastor, lately call’d to heav'n: If ye revere, and love his honor'd name,

Rejoice that to his hand the prize is giv'n.

In vain the boasting tyrant of the grave,

Erects a trophy o'er his sleeping clay ; Jesus the God, omnipotent to save,

Shall call it forth at the great rising day.

Then shall the monster death a victor own,

And life, immortal life forever reign : Triumphant saints shall their Redeemer crown

And joy and wonder fill th' heav'nly train.

Then check your sorrows, and with steady eye

Behold the track your faithful pastor trod :