Poetical recreations consisting of original poems, songs, odes, &c. with several new translations : in two parts
Advice to his Friends, lamenting the Death of I. F.
RIse and rejoyce all ye that Mourn,
Dry ev'ry Eye that weeps;
The Body in this hollow Urn,
Is not quite dead, but sleeps.
See how the Leaves in Autumns falling Dew
Forsake the weeping Tree;
And how the jocund Spring renews
With Buds their infancie.
What though the Root lye under-ground,
The Boughs to Heav'n aspire;
Thus Bodies in the Grave are found,
The Souls are mounted higher.
Page 4Hark! hark! I hear the Trumpet's Voice
Cry, Come ye Blessed, come;
Methinks I hear our Friend rejoyce,
That he is Summon'd home.
Now Dronish Death hath lost her Sting,
The Grave her Victorie;
For Christ in Triumph rides as King
Of this great Iubilee.
Arise, my Friends, and wipe your Eyes,
Salvation's drawing nigh;
Let's live to dye, and dye to rise,
T' enjoy Eternity.