Classic Poem

Just one and thirty years, or (says one, I know who,)
Eleven thousand and Three hundred Twenty two
Whole Days & Nights are past, since we arrived here
At Phi-la-del-phi-a, where ye three Sisters dear,
In Love together link'd, still arm in arm do hold
Each other, as they paint the Charities of old.
Should mine Arithmetick proceed, & multiply,
(Like God his Blessings does,) it would (Be pleas'd to try,
And pardon when ye find an overly mistake,)
Of Minuts, Seconds call'd, most thousand Millions make.
Thus long ye have been here! and ev'ry Moment he
(Or if this Web of Time in smaller Thrums can be
Divided,) has bestow'd some Benefits on you,
Brave husbands, Store of Goods, & hopeful Children too. &c.
Oh! that my slender Quill could further set in Ranks
His Graces to our Souls before your eyes, that Thanks
Might as of one heart rise to him the Holy One,
And like pure Incense yield sweet Savour at his Throne:
Where, with the Cherubims, and Spirits of Just Men,
Your Parents worship him, & that not now & then,
As we poor Mortals do, Confin'd below the Sky
To Faint & Weakness; but always, Incessantly.
John De la Val with them his Strength about this bends,
And all Eternity in Hallelu—Jahs spends.
Your Brother Mordecai, (I speak what I believe,)
And those your tender Babes, who left this Vale of Grief,
Of Sorrows & of Tears, to Heaven's Majesty
He his Te Deum sings, they their Hosanna cry.
There they expect, that ye and your Relations may
Depart in due Time, out of these Tents of Clay,
Into the Mansions, which the Lord prepar'd above,
For all his Followers, that live & die in Love,
Like Thomas Lloyd has done; whom God there does regard,
And in his Offspring here his Faithfulness Reward.
Now, notwithstanding he for you (his Daughters) longs
To mix your Melodies with his Celestial Songs;
Yet I say, Tarry ye! let me the first fall Sick,
Ascend & meet him in my last Climacterick,
Or LXIIIth year of age, I am in, and almost out.
I'm far from Flattering! and hope, ye read my mind,
Who can't, nor dare forget a Ship-Mate true & kind,
As he your Father was to me, (an Alien,)
My Lot being newly cast among such English men,
Whose Speech I thought were Welsh, their words a Canting Tune,
Alone with him I could in Latin then Commune:
Which Tongue he did pronounce right in our German way,
Hence presently we knew, what he or I would say.
Moreover, to the best of my Rememberance,
We never disagreed, nor were at Variance;
Because God's sacred Truth, (whereat we both did aim,)
To her indeared Friends is ev'ry where the same.
Therefore 'twas he that made my Passage short on Sea,
'Twas he & William Penn, that Caused me to stay
In this then uncouth land, & howling Wilderness,
Wherein I saw that I but little should possess,
And if I would Return home to my Father's house,
Perhaps great Riches & Preferments might espouse, &c.
How be't nought in the World could mine Affection quench
Towards Dear Penn, with whom I did converse in French.
The Vertues of these Two (and Three or Four beside,)
Have been the chiefest Charms, which forc'd me to abide.
And though these Persons, whom I mention with Respect,
(Whom God as Instruments, did graciously elect,
To be His Witnesses unto this faithless Age,)
Are at a distance now from our American Stage,
In which as Actors, or Spectators, we appear,
Their Memory Survives: To me they're very near.
I often wish I might their Patience so express
As I the want thereof ingenuously Confess.
Good Lord! what Injuries have your said Genitor
Of Villains, whilst he was Lieutenant-Governour!
It seem'd to me, he would his Master Equalize,
And suffer wretched Fools his Station to despise,
Especially George Keith, well nigh devour'd by Lice.
But honest Thomas Lloyd has laid his Body down
In Rest & Peace with God, & now does wear the Crown
Of Immortality, of Glory & of Life,
Laid up also for us, if lawfully we strive.