Upon the Sight of Mr. Vines's Posthumous Treatise on the Sacrament

Oct. 18, 1656,

Who died a little before.

While thou grew’st here, thy fruit made glad

The hearts that sin and death made sad:

Lest we would surfeit of thy fruit,

Thy life retired to the root.

Desiring with us first to keep

A passover before thy sleep*:

Weary of earth, thou took’st thine ease,

Passing into the land of peace:

The threaten’d evil we foresee,

But hope to hide ourselves with thee.

Though thou art gone, while we must fight,

We ’11 call it victory, not flight.

When God hath taken up this Vine,

We thought no more to taste its wine,

Till in the land of Salem’s King

We drink it new, e’en from the spring:

But unexpectedly we find

Some clusters which are left behind:

* He died suddenly on the Lord’s day at night, after he had preached and. administered the Sacrament.

This mantle from thy chariot fell; We know it by the pleasant smell: Who knows but from this little seed Some more such fruitful Vines may breed? The tree of death bears precious fruit, Though in the earth it have no root.

Dear brother! thou art gone before. And I a wretch wait at the door! Sin doth not only keep me thence, But makes me loath to go from hence. When Christ hath heard me of this sin, And made me fit, he’ll let me in: Till then, may I but in a glass, See what you see with open face; Sure it will raise my heavy soul, And these distrustful fears controul I And make me willing to be gone, As knowing whither, and to whom. If time be nothing, as some say, You that were with us yesterday Are with us still; or we with you; WTiich is the better of the two. The soul imbodied in those lines Doth make us say, that this is Vines: And if our hearts with you could be; Our Lord would say, that there are we. But as, according to desert, The Heavens have got thy better part; And left us but some of the wine, Whilst they have taken up the Vine:

BAXTER S POEMS. H)V

so we look up, and wait, and pray, And yet still feel we live in clay. Here we are keeping sin’s account, While some small sparks do upward mount, Crying, “how long, holy and true,” Till we are taken up to you. Thus also we must follow Love*, To find our head and life above. He that is made by the new-birth, A Burgesse of the Church on Earth, And then by faith can rise so high, In divine love to live and die, Shall be translated to your soil, Remov’d from sin, and fear, and toil; And from this house of worms and moles Unto that element of souls, Where every branch becomes a Vine; And where these clods like stars will shine, God is not there known by the book! You need not there the pruning-hook: There you have wine without the press; And God his praise without distress. There we shall find our eyes and sight, When we come to our head and light. The kernel is where you now dwell, And we here strive about the shell;

* Mr. A. Burgesse was Minister at Lawrence church. Mr. Love succeeded him, and was beheaded by the remnant of the Long Parliament which cut off the K., for sending money to some about the present King. Mr. Vines sue* ceeded him.

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106 BAXTER POEMS.

You have the reconciling light, Who are past faith, and live by sight: No wonder then if you are one, When peace from earth is almost gone: We crowd about a little spark, Learnedly striving in the dark! Never so bold as when most blind; Run fastest when the truth’s behind. No heresies with you are sown; There ’s not a truth but all will own: A mixture we get here by rote; And error keeps the major vote: There pride and faction cannot enter; There’s no division in the centre. The saints there play not Satan’s part; They use not any carnal art, Their righteous brethren to defame, And by untruths to blot their name. There you are comely, and not black: Each one hath all, yet none do lack. What sin or smart can you befal, Where self ‘& put off, and God is all?

Look up and see, now Vines is gone; Are not the stars the more by one? No: but one fewer in our sight*; For we have fortified his light. And such an one, as all do miss, Save those whose pleasure darkness is. And who can number stars above; When saints so fast to Heav’n remove? If but three such in all our times, As Usher, Gataker, and Vines, Were taken hence by fatal sleep; Three nations should consent to weep. And if an age this loss repair; The church will think it very fair. They shine in glory now to God, Who shin’d and burn’d here to a clod. May such a sinful worm as I, Aspire and ascend so high! That kingdom ’s mine in hope and right, Which you possess by love and sight: That God, that Christ hath loved me, Whose glory blessed Vines doth see: We were both washed in one stream, And both enlighten’d by one beam: One garment also did us clothe: At once one pulpit held us both *; Much more one church: for we agreed Both in one method, and one creed. One evil we did both condole f, As animated by one soul. Methinks where thou art, I should be; Although the lowest in degree. Thou, thou art gone, and I am here; Yet is my passing -hour near: Time is at work both night and day, E’en when it seemeth to delay:

* Those that saw me stand in his pulpit at Lawrence church when I preached for him, because he could get no other room in the church, understand this.

f See his Letter in the end of my Confession.

My grave and coffin are at hand:
My glass hath but a little sand.
Now I am writing; and anon
They ’11 also say of me, he’s gone.
Then I shall see the shining face,
Which is the glory of your place.
But lest in vain I hope and run,
Lord, perfect what thou hast begun!