A buckler against the fear of death; or, Pious and profitable observations, meditations, and consolations: by E.B.

Meditation 4.

IF youth it self may drop into the grave, When children die methinks they should bequeath Surviving parents comforts. Sure they have No cause (were not affection strong) to grieve Overmuch, as many do: For Death is impartiall, By his stroke all ages fall, Both the old'st and youngest too.

Think duly on 't. Why should your eyes runne o't For what you have no way to remedie? If you should heav'n eternally implore, It would not send them back. But you 'll replie, 'Cause there's no way to be found That may help us to recover Them again, our eyes runne over, And our tears do so abound.

Nor ever will your highest floud of sorrow Transport them back into the world again: Your selves may follow them before to morrow. Those deep-fetch'd sighs are smok'd out all in ••ain, So are all those drops you mourn Shed in vain; hap'ly you may Soon go after them, but they Are too happie to return.

Is it your love that doth produce such grones? How easily alas is love mistaken! Methinks you cannot love and grieve at once; To love were to rejoyce that they have shaken Hands with miserie to dwell In a world of blisse above; Grief at this is farre from love, It seems not to wish them well.

Or is 't because that they are dead you weep? I do not think that when they were begotten, You dream'd them death-free, or had hopes to keep Them here for ever; that they would be rotten In their graves you could not choose But consider: for a span To be quickly ended, can Never go for any news.

Nor with good reason can you lay the blame On Death at all, but on your selves that did Beget them mortall: for the very same Matter wherewith they were begot and fed, Fits them for an alteration By the hand of Death. If you Grudge that Death hath ta'n his due, You may blame their generation.

Or do you grieve because they di'd so soon? If wayes be foul, and journeys perillous, Who taketh up his lodging e'r t be noon Is best at case. 'T is like God loveth those Whom he takes betime away: Sad experience let•• us know That the happi'st here below Have a miserable stay.

Or is your onely child deceas'd, that passion Doth domineer so? here I could allow Methinks your tears a free immoderation, But that (on better ground then Jephtha's vow) I remember what was done By that parent, who is penn'd Down for great Jehovah's friend, In case of his onely sonne.

Ev'n when 't was dead a miracle did fill His Sarahs womb, but it was fill'd but once. Isaac was all: Yet Abraham must kill This all himself. God did it for the nonce That he might his graces prove, Yet the man made no denyall, But did by so strange a triall Manifest his faith and love.

This case must needs strike nearer to the heart Then yours; yet he doth presently submit. Love (I confesse) is very loth to part With what it loves, but grace doth put a bit Into natures mouth that she May not grumble nor repine At what's a decree Divine, But subscribe it chearfully.

Just like the Autumn. sap of fruitfull trees So love descend••; and it is a••dent when Dispersed, b••t by infinite degrees More arde••t when it is contracted: men That have but an onely sonne, If Death take him hence, their losse Is a great one; but this crosse Must be born. Thy will be done,

Is what your selves do pray for every day: And when this will of God's declared, you Greatly offend if you do murmure. May Not God, and Sinne, and Nature claim their due? Very ill you do behave you If you give not heav'n leave Thankfully for to bereave You again of what it gave you.

Lord, if thou please to stock my table round About with children, yet I will be glad: Nor shall my sorrow over much abound, Though I do see them in their grave-clothes clad; For the sooner are they blest: And within the shortest space Whom thou help'st to winne a race, They the sooner are at rest.