John Blackadder

Blest John, for Jesus' sake, in Patmos bound,
His prison, Bethel, Patmos pisgah found;
So the bless'd John, on yonder rock confined,–
His body suffer'd, but no chains could bind
His heaven-aspiring soul; while day by day,
As from Mount Pisgah's top, he did survey
The promised land, and view'd the crown by faith
Laid up for those who faithful are till death.
Grace formed in the Christian hero's mould–
Meek in his own concerns–in's Master's bold;
Passions to Reason chained, Prudence did lead–
Zeal warm'd his bread, and Reason cool'd his head.
Five years on the lone rock, yet sweet abode,
He Enoch-like enjoyed, and walk'd with God;
Till, by long living on this heavenly food,
His soul be love grew up too great, too good
To be confined to jail, or flesh and blood.
Death broke his fetters off, then swift he fled
From sin and sorrow; and by angels led,
Enter'd the mansions of eternal joy;–
Blest soul, thy warfare's done, praise, love, enjoy.
His dust here rests till Jesus comes again,–
Even so, blest Jesus come, –come Lord–Amen.
–Memorial to John Blackadder