Classic Poem

upon parting with a deer freind brother Gilbert, July 26 72

What ar the comforts of this life
For which poor mortals, are att strife

Wee can enjoy them but a while
although they on us seem, to smile.

They'r like unto a suden blast
Which flameth up, & then in hast.

It goeth out, & leaves behind
sadnese, and darknese on the mind.

We joy a litle in a freind
But oh how soon, this joy doth end.

They do'nt so much refresh the hart
As gaule when we from them do part.

But oh how sweet, will heaven be
Where we shall meet, & still be free.

From fear of parting any more
From freinds, or any of that chore.

That shall togather knit, in love
In the Herusalam above.

Tis good to place our hapynese
In god, who leaves not comfortlese.

We still may have recourse to him
Who only can fill, to the brim.

To good to be from cretures wean'd
And have our harts, by love fast chain'd.

To god, and unto him alone
And then be sure, thou'lt never hone.

After thesse creture vanitys
If thou on him, doe fix thine eyes.

His love will soe refresh, thine hart
As thou'lt be linkt by holy art.

So fast unto the god above
Thou'lt never care from him, to move.

By this affections, will be curb'd
And thou wilt never be disturb'd.

By any change of providence
Still dwelling in omnipotence.