The Reverend Man let all things mourn;
Sure he was some Aethereal Mind,
Fated in Flesh to be confin'd,
And order'd to be Born.
His Soul was of th' Angelick frame,
The same Ingredients, and the Mould the same,
When the Creator makes a Minister of Flame;
He was all form'd of Heavenly Things,
Mortals, believe what my  Sings,
For she has seen him rise upon his Flamy Wings.