- Agnes Bulmer: Poet of Methodist Experience
- Methodism and the Redefinition of Religious Intolerance in England, 1688-1791
- Disciplining the Self in Methodist Women’s Writing
- Hunting the Wesleyan Fox?: Toleration, Sermon Preaching, and the Public Sphere
- Playing with the Boundaries of the Religious Public Sphere in Methodist Women’s Conversion Narratives
An Elegy on the Death of Mrs. Hester Ann Rogers
An Elegy on the Death Of Mrs. Hester Ann Rogers. By a Lady, Who enjoyed the privilege of her maternal instructions on the way to glory. Sat, shall the muse, in plaintive weeping strains, A dear departed pious friend lament! Or join the host on yonder glorious plains, To greet, with triumph, the victorious saint? A conquering warrior, who return’d from fight, Has gloriously her every foe subdued, And now reposes in the plains of light, And triumphs in the presence of her God. Can we, who sojourn in the vale of life, (Who still each anxious, painful trial, know,) Desire to lengthen out the mortal strife, Of one so fully meet from earth to go? Can we the breathings of her spirit trace, Behold the ardour of her panting soul; Her steadfast care to run th’ appointed race, Her longing to attain the heavenly goal? Her deep communion with the God of lore, To feel whose presence was her soul’s delight; Her life of faith concealed with Christ above, Now changed into the beatific sight. Say, can we view, and wish to stop her flight, Even for a moment to the world recall? O that her glory on our souls may light! On us some portion of her spirit fall! No, surely, here we’ll bid our tears farewell, And triumph with the saint to glory gone; With her the praise of our Redeemer, tell — Above, below, the triumph is but one. Ah, no! ’tis not the dead demands our tears, But for ourselves, alas! our sorrows flow; We joy in her escape from grief and fears, To where the tree of life and pleasures grow. But by a double tie she claim’d our love, And lo, at once, we mourn a friend and guide! Oft has she led our soul to things above, And sweetly pointed to the Crucified. Deeply experienced, Satan’s wiles she knew, And bid us of his dang’rous baits beware; Set forth the Saviour’s love for ever new, Watching our souls with constant tender care. Full well she knew the goodness of her Lord, And wish’d that all with her his love might feel: For this mercy she to all declared With humble gratitude and pious zeal. To youth, or age, her kind advice she gave, Alike by youth or age beloved, revered, To all adapted, all their souls to save, Some roused by threat’ning, some by comfort cheer’d. Yet while she labour’d thus, with pious zeal, She ne’er despised the social calls of life, But with a conscientious care fulfill’d The duties of a parent, child, and wife. Thus while on earth her Master’s work she wrought, And now her Lord has said, “Enough is done; Thy arms lay down — the fight of faith is fought, The prize of everlasting glory’s won.” Thrice happy saint! No more our tears shall flow, No more our selfish hearts thy loss shall mourn; Be this our aim, like thee our God to know, That with like joy we may to heaven return. And thou, dear partner of her joys and cares, What consolation can a friend impart, (A child of your united faith and prayers,) To ease the sorrows of a wounded heart? Short is the time of man’s appointed space, Soon will this transitory life be gone; Then shall your souls its dearer part embrace, And stand with her before yon glorious throne! Even now, by faith, your soul with hers shall join, And learn the strains of the seraphic throng; Till all renew’d in purity divine, You sing in heaven the never ceasing song!