Poem, Written on the Death of the Rev. Thomas Spencer.

]> Poem, Written on the Death of the Rev. Thomas Spencer.Robinson, Ellen.Wen‐Lin Tsai,creation of electronic text.Electronic edition46KbBritish Women Romantic Poets ProjectShields Library, University of California, Davis, California 956161998RobiEPoemW

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Davis British Women Romantic Poets Series26Nancy Kushigian,General EditorCharlotte Payne,Managing EditorPoem, written on the death of the Rev. Thomas Spencer, in four parts …Robinson, Ellen Printed for the Authoress by W. Bethell, and published by J. Mollison … Reston & Taylor …Liverpool, 1812[This text was scanned from its original in the Shields Library Kohler Collection, University of California, Davis. Kohler ID no: I:1050. Another copy available on microfilm as Kohler I:1050mf.]

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[Title Page]

POEM,WRITTEN ON THE DEATH OF THE REV. THOMAS SPENCER,IN FOUR PARTS,VIZ. 1.␣␣On hearing of his Death. 2.␣␣On seeing the Grave. 3.␣␣On hearing the Funeral Sermon. 4.␣␣On seeing the New Chapel. TO WHICH IS ADDED A FIFTH PART, ON SEEING THE PLACE OF HIS DEATH, TOGETHER WITH SCRIPTURAL REFERENCES.BY ELLEN ROBINSON.The Righteous shall be in everlasting remembrance.‐‐‐Psalm cxii. v. 6.SECOND EDITION.LIVERPOOL:PRINTED FOR THE AUTHORESS BY W. BETHELL, AND PUBLISHED BY J. MOLLISON, WHITECHAPEL; RESTON & TAYLOR, CHURCH‐STREET, AND ALL OTHER BOOKSELLERS. 1812.

PREFACE.

The following lines were written without the least intention of their meeting the public eye, but merely to relieve my own mind, by giving vent to its feelings; however, at the request of several friends of the dear deceased, I (with a kind of trembling reluctance) ventured them into the world‐‐‐and, may the great SUPREME, who has the hearts of all in his hands, grant that they may find favour in the sight of those into whose hands, by the direction of his Providence, they may fall. I trust that the subject, and mournful occasion, will ensure the candour and good will of the sincere Christian; that the insignificance of the writer will secure them from the con‐ tempt and censure of envy; and screen them from the keenness of nice criticism.

My kind and truly‐esteemed friends, into whose hands the first and uncorrected copies fell, will find that they have undergone considerable alterations, and additions; and that some names, which I highly revere, are now left out, owing to a consideration that private and personal partiality should not be indulged in public.

I beg leave to assure an indulgent public, that they are all my own thoughts and words, and of no other individual whatever; therefore, whatever is praise‐worthy in them, is to be ascribed to the FATHER of LIGHT, from whom proceeds every good gift‐‐‐and all that is deserving of blame, belongs to the unworthy writer, and no other.

If they afford the smallest consolation to mourning friends, and bereaved hearers‐‐‐or in the least tend to arouse the young and unthinking‐‐‐or keep up the impression which the awful and alarming event has made on the public mind in general, the lines will be highly honoured, and will fully gratify

THE AUTHORESS.

[Pages 5-6 missing in this copy or not published in this edition.]POEM, &c.PART I. On hearing of the Death of the Rev. Thomas Spencer.IS SPENCER gone ? And is he gone so soon ?Is his bright sun sunk down before his noon ?Which beam'd on Zion such effulgent light,And chas'd away the mists of mental night ?Is SPENCER gone ?‐‐‐that Champion of the LORD,Who fought with weapons from the sacred word ?Who did the Spirit's sword so boldly wield,His helmet, Hope‐‐‐and dauntless Faith, his shield ! Is SPENCER gone ? Whose sweet attractive graceDrew list'ning crowds into the sacred place ?His SAVIOUR'S grace so faithfully set forth,His person‐‐‐merits‐‐‐offices‐‐‐and worth !Is SPENCER gone ? That Evangelic youth,Who faithfully declar'd the word of truth ?And, when the gospel‐theme employ'd his tongue,What streams of eloquence flow'd swift along !With what persuasive, fervid zeal he stroveTo rouse by terror‐‐‐or to win by love !When in the pulpit, he his GOD addrest,What fervent wrestlings mov'd his youthful breast !That HE would pour his Spirit's influence downUpon this populous‐‐‐this sinful town;To save a ruin'd and rebellious race,And make them willing subjects of his grace !His gifts were rare‐‐‐he well improv'd the same,And occupied* them till his MASTER came‐‐‐For he is gone‐‐‐to everlasting bliss !Oh, what a startling, awful voice is this !So early call'd to everlasting day‐‐‐Not brazen trumpets can such sounds convey ! It calls to all‐‐‐the aged and the young‐‐‐The wise‐‐‐the foolish‐‐‐impotent and strong,To mourn his loss, and to prepare for death,Since so precarious is our mortal breath.But, oh ! our loss is his eternal gain‐‐‐He's freed from sin, from sorrow, grief and pain !But whither gone ? Ah, far above the skies,On Faith's swift pinions, could our spirits rise,There should we see him, rob'd in dazzling white,In the blest regions of celestial light,And, in his SAVIOUR'S* image, beaming bright !With each choice gift, which here as buds were shewn,Into full bloom of wide expansion blown;His ev'ry grace, which here below took root,Laden with full perfection's choicest fruit;His lucid soul with heavenly splendour shine,And all his powers replete with love divine;His tuneful voice, above all mortal strains,Rais'd sweet to golden harps, on heavenly plains !Should see him glow with bright seraphic grace‐‐‐His SAVIOUR'S glory glist'ning on his face;And, disengag'd from all vain mortal strife,IN FULL POSSESSION OF ETERNAL LIFE ! ! †Oh, happy saint ! releas'd from human woes,And blest in heavenly mansions of repose‐‐‐Above the reach of sublunary things,The fall of empires, or the fate of kings‐‐‐Thou hast a kingdom which can never fade,And wear'st a Crown of Life upon thy head !Thus view'd by Faith, may mourning friends be still,Calm and resign'd to the ALMIGHTY'S will !And, may the flock of his late past'ral care,Look to their Living Head, and find true comfort there;Go to the fountain, now their stream is dry'd,To GOD, who all their wants has well supply'd‐‐‐And will supply them still‐‐‐His great right hand,Still holds bright stars to shine through every land !* Luke chap. xix. v. 13.* Psalm xvii. 15.† 1 Tim. v. 12.PART II.On seeing the GraveDoes this small space contain the mortal partOf dear departed SPENCER ? that fair form,That lately grac'd yon pulpit, spreading wideThe joyful tidings of redeeming love ?Is that late lively animated frame,Laid cold and motionless beneath my tread ?Am I, unworthy cumberer of the ground,Spar'd to behold his silent, darksome grave ?Yes, here he'll rest, till time shall be no more‐‐‐Till the Archangel, and the trump of GOD*Shall raise him up to meet his blessed LORD !But, oh ! what blasted hopes lie buried here !What wither'd expectations ! Mute's that tongue,That with such eloquence diffus'd aroundHis SAVIOUR'S glory, and redeeming grace;Which own'd, and blest, and crown'd him LORD† of ALL !Lost that melodious voice which sounded forthThe Gospel trumpet to attentive crowds,Startling the careless: rousing them to thinkAnd ponder whence they came, and whither bound !Cold is that head where heavenly knowledge dwelt,Congeal'd that heart, which glow'd with love divine,And clos'd those eyes, so oft to Heaven uprais'd !Seal'd up in lasting silence are those lips‐‐‐And still those hands, which oft were lifted upIn fervent prayer, for sinner and for saint !May we, submissive to GOD'S sov'reign will,In silence bow, nor murmur whilst we mourn,And own HIM* righteous, and HIS judgments justIn this astonishing and sad event,As just chastisement for our crying sins !Oh, LIVERPOOL ! it has an awful voice,That rises high, and calls aloud to thee !It calls aloud‐‐‐it calls, and will be heard !When earthly monarchs suddenly recalTheir envoys from their fellow‐monarchs' courts,It shews displeasure, and betokens war.And, oh ! what shall we say?‐‐‐The King of kingsSent this his choice ambassador to thee,†With high credentials from the Court of Heaven,Adorn'd with splendid gifts, and rich in grace,Which prov'd JEHOVAH'S glory, and enforc'dThe grand importance of his message high !When, sudden, like a dreadful thunderclap,He's quick recall'd, not to return again !Not Elijah's chariot of fire,'Twas water carried our young prophet hence !Oh, water ! awful, honour'd element !By thee what solemn acts have been perform'd !It was in Jordan's highly‐honour'd stream,The LORD of LIFE and GLORY was baptis'd*‐‐‐'Twas Mersey's dreadfully‐commissioned wave,Bore dear lamented SPENCER to the skies !GAY youth, hence learn the danger of delay‐‐‐Protract not for a moment ! He was young,Yet snatch'd away without a warning given !Nor yet, O youth ! presume on health or strength,Or intellectual powers‐‐‐or any thingThat can avail or screen thee from the grave:For, oh ! could pleasing countenance and form‐‐‐Could shining talents, polish'd and improv'd,Engag'd in best of services‐‐‐admir'd,Applauded and approv'd ! Could fervent zeal,And holy boldness in his MASTER'S cause;Could splendid excellences thus combin'd,And crown'd with pleasing prospects, views, and hopes,‐‐‐Could these, and more than I have skill to name,Have sav'd from Death‐‐‐SPENCER had been immortal !But he is gone !‐‐‐and we no more shall hearThe Word of Truth from his instructive tongue.It, then, behoves those who have heard his voice,To turn their thoughts within, and ponder wellHow they've receiv'd his doctrine‐‐‐how improv'd‐‐‐And what effects these blessings have produc'd ?I fear he was to some a pleasing song,*And though they sat, as GOD'S own people sit;Heard as they hear‐‐‐approv'd as they approve‐‐‐Yet, the short‐liv'd impression, soon eras'd,They, while his voice still sounded in their ears,Retir'd to shameful haunt, song, dance, or sport,And vain amusements of the present day.If it be so, O sinner, take th' alarm !He often preach'd the uncertainty of life,And, lo, his death exemplifies the fact.He, therefore, preaches still aloud to thee‐‐‐More loudly in his death than in his life.Let not what thou hast heard against thee, riseIn JUDGMENT in the great decisive day,But flee to CHRIST, the sinner's only hope,And gracious Advocate, who ever livesAt GOD'S right hand, to intercede† and save,Nor think all hope is buried in this grave:Oh, no ! the LORD has many a polish'd shaftRemaining in his quiver; many a star‡His great right hand still holds, that well set forthThe praise and glory of redeeming grace.*Oh, hear their words‐‐‐Oh hear those in this townWho (faithful servants of the MOST HIGH GOD)Make known salvation's glorious way to men,†And, by the sun of righteousness illum'd,Shine forth as stars in a benighted world;Who, blest with learning, solid gifts and grace,Dig‐‐‐deeply dig, the Gospel's sacred mine,And show, to sinners lost, the LAMB of GOD ! ‡Clearly unfolding the grand Gospel scheme,And guiding souls into the path of life.Oh, may the LORD a double portion pour,Of his blest spirit into ev'ry soul;Of all his faithful servants that remain,May he their earthly vessels amply fillWith heavenly treasure‐‐‐give redoubled zealAnd holy valour in the cause of truth;In word and doctrine may they all be sound,And as bright heralds of the Gospel, blowThe glorious trumpet of free sovereign grace.And, let us thank the FATHER of all Light§‐‐‐The GIVER of each good and perfect gift,[In the original text, the following pages were misbound 16, 18, 17, 19. They are here given in order: pages 16‐19.]Though the dear short‐liv'd SPENCER is removed,The fountain of all good for ever flows;And let us pray for grace to duly prizeHis servants that remain; and, fervent pray,Their valu'd‐‐‐useful lives may long be spar'd,And all their faithful labours may be blest !* 1st Thes. iv. 16.† Acts x. 13.* Jer. xiii. l, and Rev. xvi. 7.† Liverpool.* Mark, i. 9, &c.* Exek. xxxiii. 31, 32, 33.† Heb. vii. 25.‡ Rev. i. 20.* Eph. i. 6.† Acts xvi. 17.‡ John i. 29.§ James i. 19.PART III.On hearing the Funeral Sermon.WHY hangs this gloom oppresive o'er my soul ?Why frequent heaves the deep unbidden sigh ?Why starts the big involuntary tear ?'Tis yesterday's impression‐‐‐when I heard,The early goodness‐‐‐vast capacious powers‐‐‐Th' invaluable worth, which, folded upIn SPENCER'S brilliant mind, was snatch'd awayE'er they were half disclos'd‐‐‐recounted o'erBy his dear fellow labourer and friend.*At evening, I retir'd to the dear place,†Where late with arduous, unremitting zealThe Word of Life he faithfully dispens'd:This added to my grief‐‐‐I miss'd him there‐‐‐I mourn'd that I should see his face no more;All things around gave tokens of their loss‐‐‐The pulpit with it's sable covering deck'd‐‐‐The people in their mournful colours clad,Arous'd, at once, the thoughts of grief‐‐‐of death !Departed glory, and extinguish'd light‐‐‐And still, majestic, solemn pomp of woe !Oh, what an awful cutting off is here !*And mournful shutting‐up of such bright powr'sBefore they were display'd: but murmur not‐‐‐Be still, my soul, and know that it was GODWho took the dear departed to himself !Whose wond'rous plans, known only to himself,Ordain'd it for HIS glory, and our good,To take him at that time, and in that way !For, oh ! it was the LORD's appointed time†‐‐‐He'd reach'd the bounds o'er which he could not pass,‡Then yielded up his soul in Mersey's wave,And enter'd into life, which knows no end;And tho' no friend, was witness to his death,Like Moses*‐‐‐GOD himself was present there,And glorious Angels minister'd,† no doubt,To guide him through the shining path of light‐‐‐To open wide the everlasting doors,‡And let that Heir of Glory enter in;To place a Crown of Life upon his head,And, with a palm of victory fill his hand,To swell the triumph of his SAVIOUR'S blood !But, oh ! again my murmuring sorrows rise,I can't forbear to cry‐‐‐how very soon !Alas ! for us, too soon ‐‐he took his flight !But twenty years !‐‐‐Ah, me, how frail the date‐‐‐How very short‐‐‐how circumscrib'd his span;Yet, oh ! consider my rebellious heart !It was, it is, it must be for the best.Can pure unbounded wisdom e'er mistake ?Or can unbounded goodness be unkind ?Oh, no; his gifts were not of common kind:They early budded, blossom'd, and bore fruit,And tho' his course was short‐‐‐his work was great;He very soon began his bright career,Press'd swiftly on, and early reach'd the goal,Dropt his mortality, and soar'd above‐‐‐Left the vain fleeting toys, and hopes of time,And entered upon solid, lasting bliss;His conflicts and his labours now are o'er,And he enjoys eternal life and rest:He's reach'd the summit of immortal blissIn the bright regions of unfading joy;His earthly frame‐‐‐tho' lovely it appear'd,Was but the prison of his better part‐‐‐The fetters of his Heaven‐born‐‐‐Heaven‐bound soul !Now he is liberated‐‐‐set at large,His shackles are thrown off‐‐‐and uncontroul'd,Unbounded, roves among the heavenly hills,And drinks true wisdom from the fountain head.The souls he won, and brought to Christ below,Shall soon rejoin him in the Church above,At once his joy, his glory, and his crown,*And with him sing unceasing songs of praiseTo Him who bought them with his precious blood !Him who he preach'd, and own'd, and serv'd below,And now enjoys and sees His face in Heaven.Ye aged saints, who long have Heavenward trod,Who heard the Gospel from his fluent tongue,And by the same was edified and blest,Let this solace you:‐‐‐That when you arriveAt the blest mansions of unfading bliss,*By your REDEEMER purchas'd and prepared;There your late youthful pastor you will meetTo sing the song of Moses and the Lamb,†And never‐‐‐never‐‐‐never part again.And, dear bereaved Church, for you I feel,And humbly hope, I with and for you prayThat God, who in his righteous governmentSaw fit such favour on you to conferIn sending such a brilliant shining lightTo grace your tabernacle with its blaze,Will give you strength and patience to sustainHis quick removal to the Church above:For, oh ! remember GOD in every ageHas often check'd the fond pursuits and hopesOf his redeemed‐‐‐and that in tenderest love,To draw their souls more closely to himself,And teach them all below the sun is vain.Oh ! may this stroke be deeply sanctifiedUnto you all‐‐‐may it increase your faith;Your hope, your love, and every Christian grace !Oh ! may it tend more closely to uniteYou to teach other in the bonds of love;And, may the LORD, in his good time and way,Send you a pastor after his own heart*To build you up‐‐‐and well supply the placeOf him whose sad removal now you mourn;And may we all rise up‐‐‐shake off our sloth,Nor settle longer on our lees‐‐‐but striveTo make our calling and election sure†Nor loiter in our race while yet 'tis day;For, lo ! the awful night approaches fast,In which our LORD assures us none can work.‡Oh, may he grant us his enabling grace,To learn that noblest, best arithmetic,Of numb'ring so our short uncertain days,That we our hearts to wisdom may apply,§And tread this sinful and ensnaring worldBeneath our feet, and fix our hearts above,Where sin, or death, or grief no more is known.And, oh ! may youthful souls be stirred up¶To seek the one thing needful, and ensureUnto their souls that good, that better part‐‐‐CHRIST'S glorious kingdom and his righteousness,The which all other blessings does include,Which neither time nor death can take away,But is a portion for eternity !* Mr. Lister.† Newington Chapel.* Job xi. 10. † Job. vii. 1.‡ Job xiv. 5.* Deu. xxxiv. 6.† Heb. i. 14.‡ Psalm xxiv. 7.* Phil. iv. 1.* John xvi. 3.† Rev. xv. 3.* Jer. iii. 15.† Peter i. 10.‡ John ix. 4.§ Psalm xc. 1¶ Alluding to the last text Mr. Spencer preached from.PART IV.On seeing the New ChapelHow fickle is our earthly state,How transient all sublunar things;How blind are mortals to their fate,Not knowing what to‐morrow brings.*We raise our expectations high,In quest of solid bliss they go;But if we build beneath the sky,Alas ! we find we build too low.Witness yon sacred structure rais'd,For the blest service of the LORD,In which we hope to hear him prais'd,To seek his face, and hear his word.And here we hop'd dear SPENCER's tongue,(Blest with rich eloquence and grace)Would fix a large attentive throng,Like nails* within this sacred place.We hop'd the Spirit's saving power,And special grace would crown his word,Descending in a plenteous shower,To bring lost sinners to the LORD.'Twas here the youthful champion stood,When the foundation‐stone was laid;Made known the worth of JESU'S blood‐‐‐The banner of the cross display'd,Declared to list'ning crowds around,His only view, his end and aim,Was the glad gospel‐trump to sound,And pardoning love to souls proclaim.To wage an unremitting war'Gainst Satan, our most deadly foe;To bring those near that are afar,And free salvation's plan to shew.But, mournful thought ! the building's rear'd,The windows now admit the light;But SPENCER'S gone! quite disappear'd‐‐‐His eyes are clos'd in lasting night.His voice melodious ne'er will soundWithin these walls, the joyful news;Nor warn attentive thousands round,The good, the better part to chuse.*Exhort poor sinners CHRIST to seek,Or edify the 'stablish'd saint;Confirm the strong‐‐‐restore the weak,Or with sweet promise cheer the faint.He's snatch'd from high‐wrought hopes away,Like some fair flower by chilling blast;But, oh ! he's gone to heavenly day‐‐‐His labours o'er‐‐‐his conflict's past !Great GOD ! forgive our heartfelt sighs !If they to murmuring's incline;Repress those murmurs e're they rise,Submit us to Thy will divine.Make us submissive to thy will,To bow beneath thy chastening rod;And hear thine awful voice‐‐‐"Be still,*And know I am a sovereign GOD !"Oh, may we (of the human race)Adore his goodness, power and skill;Admire the wonders of his grace,And own (tho' just) his goodness still.Does not all nature in it's course,And sweet harmonious order prove,And in mute language still enforceHis power, his goodness, and his love ?The Sun, that radient source of light,By day his goodness wide displays‐‐‐The Moon with soften'd rays by night,Shews forth his love, and speaks his praise.Yon COMET, glaring in the sky,With threat'ning aspect seems to lower;A flaming monitor on high‐‐‐Reminds us of it's MAKER'S power.Who can resist His mighty hand ?Who can avert His awful stroke ?Who can His lifted arm withstand,Or who rejoin what He has broke ?If He cut off, who can withold ?If He demand, who can keep backIf He shut up, who can unfold ?If He bestow, oh, who can lack ?Let us adore that matchless grace,That brought the SAVIOUR from above,To save a sinful, ruin'd race,And loud proclaim'd‐‐‐" Our GOD is Love"** Prov. xxvii. 1.* Ezra, ix. 8.* Luke x. 42.* Psalm xlvi. 10.*1 John iv. 16.PART V.On seeing the Place of his Death.IS THIS the place‐‐‐From whence bright SPENCER took his upward flight ?Approach it, then, with trembling awe, my feet !And (moving sight !) behold his honour'd nameAnd date, when this eventful stroke took place,Carv'd by Affection's hand upon that rock !*Leave it not printless, oh, ye dashing waves !Let no rude feet th' impression soon erase,But may it stand a long memorial here !These shores‐‐‐those fields‐‐‐his feet have often trod‐‐‐'Twas here he oft retired from the world,To hold high converse with his Saviour‐‐‐GOD,And meditate on heaven‐‐‐so soon his home !These were his lov'd, his oft‐frequented walks,In which he meditation high indulg'd,And, studious, mus'd upon salvation's plan;How best to make that plan to sinners known,And glorify his blest REDEEMER'S name;To gird the gospel armour† on his soul,And wield the weapons of the sacred word‐‐‐Wherewith to combat Satan and his host‐‐‐Weaken his empire‐‐‐and extend his LORD'S;To praise his heavenly Father‐‐‐Saviour‐‐‐Friend‐‐‐To view His Majesty in rocks and sea,And the romantic beauties of this scene;To mark the operations of His hand,And muse his glory in these clifted rocks;His love, in fields array'd in charming green‐‐‐In barren heaths, the wonders of His hand:Yes, here he oft retir'd to meet his GOD ‐‐‐AND HERE HE MET HIM ! This his Pisgah* prov'd;'Twas GOD'S directing hand his footsteps led‐‐‐Unerring wisdom pointed out his path‐‐‐His grand release was signed ! His hour was come !Mersey it's dread commission had receiv'd,To waft his soul seraphic to the skies,And, hence, translate him to a higher state !From this dull region, clog'd by sinful air,To cloudless skies in pure, and heavenly climes,The which all cause of evil still exclude;Into which pain and sorrow never come,Nor sin defiles that pure and blissful place;In which no darkness casts the slightest shade,But one eternal, bright effulgent noon,Made by the glorious sun of righteousness,†Those heavenly hills on which his soul was fix'd;For, whilst his spirit was confin'd below,His best affections ever center'd there;Yes, his affections‡ reign'd at GOD'S right hand,Where sits his SAVIOUR crown'd in love and graceAnd matchless glory, not to be conceiv'dBy mortals, while they're cloth'd in sinful clay.Oh ! what a glorious convoy grac'd this spot,Of heavenly* angels, to conduct him hence,And guide his radient soul to endless bliss.Death was disarmed of terror ! Quick he droptMortality !‐‐‐stript off his cumbrous clay,And rose a blissful spirit to the skies,To take possession of a splendid seatNear his REDEEMER ! To behold his face,And sing his praises thro' eternal day.O, what a glorious change with him took place,Instantly to exchange this dusky sphere,And enter upon everlasting day !The light of heaven bright beaming round his head‐‐‐The chrystal arches, shining in his sight !His soaring powers, all fitted for their flight‐‐‐Life's fickle joys‐‐‐and death's dread pains all o'er‐‐‐Fully possess'd of endless life and joy.O, happy saint ! Heaven's choice peculiar careIn life and death‐‐‐and thro' eternity;Favour'd in life with shining gifts and grace‐‐‐With trials few‐‐‐state of probation short;Wean'd‐‐‐early wean'd from toys of time and sense,To feast on things eternal and divine.Blest‐‐‐amply blest, with wisdom from above;Sure he who winneth* souls, is truly wise.His death, though violent by reason deem'd,A milder aspect wears, when view'd by faith;A quick dismission granted him in love,Exempting him from pain preceding death;From pining sickness preying on his frame‐‐‐From witnessing the sympathizing grief,And parting sorrows of surviving friends‐‐‐Wounding his feelings e're he clos'd his eyes,On all whom he esteem'd and lov'd below.His lovely form rests in the peaceful dust‐‐‐But rests in hope. His† great REDEEMER lives,And ever guards and watches his remains,And, with a dazzling glory like his own,Will raise him up at the decisive day.Then will his bliss be perfect and complete,Body and soul be glorified, and join'd‐‐‐Perfect in knowledge, holiness, and love,All happiness, all glory, light and joy,And perpetuity will crown the whole!His death was precious* in Jehovah's sight‐‐‐So says his word. Then be it so in ours!Let no vain thoughts be cherish'd near this place‐‐‐This awful place‐‐‐dear SPENCER'S dying scene!And, O, may youthful hearts be deeply struckWith solemn, serious thoughts, when they approachThis awful spot;‐‐‐nor glory in their youth,Their beauty, health, or strength, or mental powers,But seek an interest in the SAVIOUR'S BLOOD,And the protection of that mighty GOD,Whose potent arm can crush them like the moth,†And can at once destroy the hope of man;‡But, who has promis'd in his holy word,That those who seek him early‐‐‐him shall find ! §* On the rock on which Mr. Spencer undressed himself, may be seen his name, and the date of his lamented death, cut by the affectionate hand of his uncle.† Eph. vi. 11.* Deu. xxxiv. 4.† Rev. xxi. 23.‡ Col. iii. 1.2.* Luke xvi. 22.* Pro. xi. 80.† Job. xix. 25.* Psalm cxvi. 15† Job. iv. 19.‡ Job. xiv. 19§ Pro. viii. 17.THE END.W. Bethell, Printer.