Blessed Robinson hath run his race, <br />From earth to heaven is gone, <br />To be with Christ, in heavenly place, <br />The blessed saints among. <br />A burning and a shining light <br />Was he while he was here, <br />A preacher of the gospel bright, <br />Whom we did love most dear. <br />What though he dead, his works alive, <br />And live will to all age. <br />The comfort of them pleasant is <br />To living saints each day. <br />Oh blessed holy savior, <br />The fountain of all grace, <br />From whom such blessed instruments <br />Are sent and run their race, <br />To lead us and guide us in <br />The way to happiness, <br />That so, oh Lord, we may always <br />For evermore confess, <br />That whosoever gospel preacher be, <br />Or waterer of the same, <br />We may always most constantly <br />Give glory to thy name.<br /><br />William Bradford<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-few-poems-made-by-a-friend-on-the-deplored-death-of-mr-john-robinson/
