Classic Poem

Now farewel World, in which is not my Treasure,
I have in thee enjoy'd but little Pleasure.
And now I leave thee for a better Place,
Where lasting Pleasures are before CHRIST's Face.

Farewel, ye Sons of Men, who do not favour
The things of God; who little prize his Favour.
Farewel, I say with your Fools Paradise,
Until the King of Terrors you Surprise,
And bring you trembling to CHRIST's Judgment seat,
To give Account of your Transgressions Great.

Farewel, New-England, which hast long Enjoy'd
The Day of Grace, but hast most vainly toy'd,
And trifled with the Gospels Glorious Light;
Thou mayst expect a dark Egyptian Night.

Farewel, Young Brood and Rising Generation,
Wanton and Proud, Ripe for Gods Indignation;
Which neither you, nor others can prevent,
Except in Truth you speedily Repent.

Farewel, sweet Saints of God, Christ's little Number,
Beware lest ye thro' sloth securely Slumber.
Stand to your Spiritual Arms, and keep your Watch,
Let not your Enemy you napping catch.
Take up your Cross, prepare for Tribulation,
Thro' which doth ly the way unto Salvation.
Love JESUS CHRIST, with all Sincerity:
Eschew Will-Worship and Idolatry.
Farewel again, until we all appear
Before our Lord, a Well-done there to hear.

Farewel ye faithful Servants of the Lord,
Painful dispensers of His Holy Word;
From whose Communion and Society
I once was kept thro' long Infirmity;

This of my Sorrows was an Aggravation;
But, Christ be thanked, thro' whose Mediation,
I have at length obtained Liberty
To dwell with Soul-delighting Company,
Where many of our Friends are gone before,
And you shall follow with as many more.
Mean while stand fast, the Truth of God maintain,
Suffer for Christ, and great shall be your Gain.

Farewel, my natural Friends and dear Relations,
Who have my Trials seen and great Temptations;
You have no Cause to make for me great Moan;
My Death to you is little Loss or none.
But unto me it is no little Gain;
For Death at once frees me from all my Pain.
Make Christ your greatest Friend, who never dies;
All other Friends are fading Vanities.
Make him your Light, your Life, your End, your All:
Prepare for Death, be ready for his call.

Farewel, vile Body subject to Decay,
Which art with lingering Sickness worn away,
I have by thee much Pain and Smart endur'd,
Great Grief of Mind thou hast to me Procur'd;
Great Grief of Mind, by being impotent,
And to Christ's Work an awkward Instrument.
Thou shalt not henceforth be a clog to me,
Nor shall my Soul a burthen be to thee.

Rest in thy Grave, until the Resurrection,
Then shalt thou be revived in Perfection:
Endow'd with wonderful Agility,
Cloathed with Strength, and Immortality;
With shining brightness, gloriously array'd,
Like to Christ's glorious Body, glorious made.
Thus Christ shall thee again to me restore,
Ever to live with Him, and part no more.
Mean while my Soul shall enter into Peace,
Where Fears and Tears, where Sin & Smart shall cease.