Once more, adieu! O friend, instructor, guide, With whom our hopes, our fairest prospects died. With what fond zeal we press'd the throne divine, To rescue from the grave a life like thine! If ardent prayers--if streaming sorrows, shed In all the bitterness of soul--could plead, Our prayers, O Doddridge! had revers'd thy doom, And tens of thousands wept thee from the tomb. But cease, rash Muse--oh, tremble to repine! 'Tis heaven demands him, and we must resign. All-perfect Goodness ever wills the best: Then bow submissive to the high behest, And silent drop the tributary tear That nature's forced to pay to friendship dear. Though heaven forbids us to indulge our grief, A tear it will allow--the soul's relief. Yet who would wish him still confin'd below, Struggling with dire disease, or loads of woe? Then dry the tear, suppress the rising sigh, Weep not for him who could rejoice to die. E'en when the quiv'ring pulse, the panting breath, And clay-cold sweat, presag'd th' approach of death, His steady soul, by conscious virtue arm'd, No inward stings or gathering clouds alarm'd. Calm as the silent surface of the sea, When ev'n the gentle breeze has ceased to play, Fair hope, strong faith, his sinking soul sustain'd, In smiling peace each rising care seren'd; Heav'n on the saint shed down her cheering ray, And open'd on his mind her dawning day. Then his warm breast with bliss ecstatic glow'd, Fir'd with th' approaching vision of his God. Impatient of his soul-confining chains, Eager he welcom'd the dissolving pains; Already seem'd on seraphs' wings to rise, Already spurn'd his dust, and tower'd into the skies. Methought I saw him mount the starry way, His temples beaming with celestial day. Rapt in a flamy car, sublime he flew-- The flamy car fire-breathing coursers drew; Swift as the lightning glimpse he flash'd along; While, waiting for his flight, a white-rob'd throng (Once wretched souls, enslaved by Satan's yoke, Whose painful bonds his arduous labours broke), Grateful and happy, smile to see him rise, And hail him welcome to th' applauding skies; Ten thousand harps, harmonious as the spheres, Proclaim their joy, and charm his ravish'd ears. In proceeding with the Memorials of this Church, now bereft of its beloved and honoured Doddridge, we find that the Rev. Robert Gilbert was called to be the pastor, and entered upon the pastoral charge at Lady-day, 1753. This worthy man died December 28th, 1760. We are unable to ascertain what was the condition of the Church during the ministry of Mr. Gilbert; but have some reason to conclude that it was not in a united or prosperous state. Considerable difficulty might be expected to attend the choice of a successor to such a pastor as the one that had immediately preceded; and this more fully appeared after Mr. Gilbert's short course of labour had closed.