The ninth of May, about nine of the clock,
A precious one God out of Plimouth took;
Governor Bradford then expir'd his breath,
Was call'd away by force of cruel death.
A man approv'd in town, in church, in court,
Who so behav'd himself in godly sort,
For the full space of thirty-seven years,
As he was means of turning many fears
Away from thee, poor Plimouth, where he spent
The better part of time that God him lent.
Well skill'd he was in regulating laws,
So as by law he could defend the cause
Of poor distressed plaintiff, when he brought
His case before him, and for help besought.
Above all other men he loved those
Who Gospel truths most faithfully unclose,
Who were with grace and learning fully fraught,
Such as laboriously the Gospel taught.
Willing also to own, in his due place,
The meanest saint, expressing gifts of grace.
Sweet Brewster, he is gone some time before;
Wise Winslow, whose death we lament so sore;
And faithful Standish, freed from horrid pain,
To be with Christ, in truth, the greatest gain:
Now blessed, holy Bradford, a successor
Of blessed, holy Bradford, the confessor,
Is gone to place of rest, which many more
Of precious ones, whom I might name, great store;
And commendation of each one having given;
But what needs that? their names are writ in heaven.
And now, dear Lord, let us our time improve,
To be with thee in prayer much above.
O save thy people; help in time of need;
When all means fail, be thou in room and stead
Of other helps, who fail when needed most;
When greatest need, they then give up the ghost.
And let thy servants their time still employ,
That in the end they may attain such joy
As may a fruit of true believing be,
That we with Christ may reign eternally.