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Classic and Contemporary Poetry
ON THE DEATH OF THE REV. MR. GEORGE WHITEFIELD, 1770, by PHILLIS WHEATLEY Recitation Poet Analysis Poet's Biography First Line: Hail, happy saint, on thine immortal throne Last Line: Till life divine re-animates his dust. Alternate Author Name(s): Peters, Phillis Variant Title(s): An Elegaic Poem Subject(s): Christianity; Love - Loss Of; Mortality; Whitefield, George (1714-1770) | |||
HAIL, happy saint, on thine immortal throne, Possest of glory, life, and bliss unknown; We hear no more the music of thy tongue, Thy wonted auditories cease to throng. Thy sermons in unequall'd accents flow'd, And ev'ry bosom with devotion glow'd; Thou didst in strains of eloquence refin'd Inflame the heart, and captivate the mind. Unhappy we the setting sun deplore, So glorious once, but ah! it shines no more. Behold the prophet in his tow'ring flight! He leaves the earth for heav'n's unmeasur'd height, And worlds unknown receive him from our sight. There Whitefield wings with rapid course his way, And sails to Zion through vast seas of day. Thy pray'rs, great saint, and thine incessant cries Have pierc'd the bosom of thy native skies. Thou moon hast seen, and all the stars of light, How he has wrestled with his God by night. He pray'd that grace in ev'ry heart might dwell, He long'd to see America excell; He charg'd its youth that ev'ry grace divine Should with full lustre in their conduct shine; That Saviour, which his soul did first receive, The greatest gift that ev'n a God can give, He freely offer'd to the num'rous throng, That on his lips with list'ning pleasure hung. "Take him, ye wretched, for your only good, "Take him ye starving sinners, for your food; "Ye thirsty, come to this life-giving stream, "Ye preachers, take him for your joyful theme; "Take him my dear Americans, he said, "Be your complaints on his kind bosom laid: "Take him, ye Africans, he longs for you, "Impartial Saviour is his title due: "Wash'd in the fountain of redeeming blood, "You shall be sons, and kings, and priests to God." Great Countess, we Americans revere Thy name, and mingle in thy grief sincere; New England deeply feels, the Orphans mourn, Their more than father will no more return. But, though arrested by the hand of death, Whitefield no more exerts his lab'ring breath, Yet let us view him in th' eternal skies, Let ev'ry heart to this bright vision rise; While the tomb safe retains its sacred trust, Till life divine re-animates his dust. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...TO THE REV. MR. GEORGE WHITEFIELD by CHARLES WESLEY A FAREWELL TO AMERICA, TO MRS. S. W. by PHILLIS WHEATLEY AN HYMN TO THE EVENING by PHILLIS WHEATLEY HIS EXCELLENCY GENERAL WASHINGTON by PHILLIS WHEATLEY ON BEING BROUGHT FROM AFRICA TO AMERICA by PHILLIS WHEATLEY ON IMAGINATION by PHILLIS WHEATLEY TO A GENTLEMAN & LADY ON THE DEATH ... CHILD NAMED AVIS by PHILLIS WHEATLEY TO S.M., A YOUNG AFRICAN PAINTER, ON SEEING HIS WORKS by PHILLIS WHEATLEY TO THE RIGHT HON! WILLIAM EARL OF DARTMOUTH by PHILLIS WHEATLEY TO THE UNIVERSITY OF CAMBRIDGE, IN NEW-ENGLAND by PHILLIS WHEATLEY A FUNERAL POEM ON THE DEATH OF C.E., AN INFANT OF 12 MONTHS by PHILLIS WHEATLEY |
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