On the Death of Mr. John Matthews, December 28, 1764, Part 2

Nor less the Christian husband shone;
With steady, strong affection kind.
Wisdom and love he join'd in one.
The pastor's and the father's mind:
A drop from the pure Fount above
Did all his heart and life o'erflow.
Whose only labour was to prove
How Jesus loved His church below.

Freely his all for her he gave,
(Whom mercy had on him bestow'd,)
Her soul, her precious soul to save.
And without spot present to God:
For this alone he toil'd and lived.
Her burdens on himself to take,
Kindly in her afflictions grieved.
And suffer'd all things for her sake.

Oppression laid her iron yoke.
By Satan's choicest messenger,
And bruised with many a cruel stroke,
And gall'd his generous soul sincere:
In wrongs that might the wise confound,
His Father's gracious hand he sees,
Nor murmurs at the treacherous wound.
But still maintains his soul in peace.

The tempter all his wiles essay'd
A servant of the Lord to' o'erthrow:
His eye, in garb angelic clad,
Discern'd the soft malicious foe:
The most perverse of human race
Might, leagued with hell, his caution try;
He never to the fiend gave place,
Or once believed their smoothest lie.

His love endured the fiery test;
Unfeign'd, impartial, unconfined,
His love received the worst and best.
As due to all the ransom'd kind:
If some well-meaning kindness show,
If others spitefully entreat.
He could not recollect a foe,
A friend he never could forget.

His friends and partners in distress
With warmest gratitude he held:
Affliction could not make it less.
When all the powers of nature fail'd:
Worn out with lingering, lasting pain,
Ready, and longing to depart,
In confidence to meet again,
He bore them on his faithful heart.

The object of His kindest love
His Father to the utmost tries.
And calls a favourite child to prove
A thousand deaths before he dies;
The strength, but not the joy, of grace,
He doth in largest measure give;
Yet still He seems to hide His face,
And still He seeins His own to leave.

Did such a soul the witness want,
Though not in formal words express'd?
He knew his Father's love would grant
Whate'er His wisdom counted best:
He cannot once distrust that care,
Throughout his life of mercies shown,
Or doubt his sure admission there
Where Jesus prays before the throne.

His soul doth on the Rock remain,
Within the veil his anchor's cast,
Through many a night of hallow'd pain,
Till pain extreme hath brought the last:
He now on Christ his life relies,
Nor can the king of terrors fear.
While calm in mercy's arms, he cries,
"The Lord preserves, for ever near!"

Nor yet the Lord His light imparts.
Or comes on His own work to shine;
Nor yet the sinner saved exerts
That act of reflex faith Divine:
While ready for celestial bliss.
His gasping soul on Christ he stays,
But never challenges for his
The perfect or the pardoning grace.

Above all sin, and doubt, and fear.
While proved with agonies unknown,
To faith's almighty Finisher
He cleaves by naked faith alone:
Stranger to sensible delight,
Still his own grace he cannot see;
Tisthidden from a sinner's sight,
Whose soul is all humility.

Come, see in this pale shadowy form
A spectacle to gods and men,
And learn from a frail dying worm
The wonders of the world unseen!
His flesh, and heart, and spirit faints,
His life is all conceal'd above:
Here is the patience of the saints!
Here is the power of perfect love!

Poor, meek, and patient to the end,
One even man in life and death,
He doth the humble grace commend.
And breathes it with his latest breath:
"My dearest friends, whom now I leave.
Your charity in prayer be show'd,
Lest I at last my soul deceive,
Or vainly think that I am good."

He speaks, and, yielding up the ghost
Without a parting sigh or groan,
Escorted by the' angelic host,
Appears before the' eternal throne!
He still instructs us how to live,
Our Saviour how to testify,
Till all His fulness we receive.
And perfected through sufferings die!