MEMOIR OF RICHABD SIBBES, D.D. CXXV
sweetly unfolded, as may appear by those sermons now in print, ' And therefore,' saith a reverend divine, ' the 7ioted humility of the author I less wonder at, finding how often his thoughts dwelt upon the humiliation of Christ. '•■;=
The ' reverend divine' referred to was Thomas Fuller, who plays with the conceit in his own wisely-witty way. We cannot pass it by :—
He was most eminent for that grace which is most worth, yet costs the least to keep it, viz., Chnstian humility. Of all points of divinity, he most frequently pressed that of Christ's incarnation ; and if the angels desired to pry into that mystery, no wonder if this angelical man had a longing to look therein. A learned divine imputed this good doctor's great humility to his much meditating on that point of Chi-ist's humiliation when he took our flesh upon him. If it be true what some hold in physic, that omiie par nutrit suum par, that the vitals of our body are most strengthened by feed- ing on such meats as are likest unto them, I see no absm-dity to maintain that men's souls improve most in those graces whereon they have most constant meditation, whereof this worthy doctor was an eminent instance. f
Aye, quaint and loveable Fuller, and there is a higher autho- rity than ' physic' for it, even 2 Cor. iii. 18, ' We all, with open face beholding as in a glass the glory of the Lord, are changed into the same image from glory to glory, even of the Lord, the Spirit.'
Thus growing in holiness and humility, Richard Sibbes passed along his ' pilgrimage.' We have found that he lived in troublous times, and that he did not escape his own share of its trials and persecution. It had argued time-serving or a cold neutrality had it been otherwise. We find him also taking a fitting stand for ' the truth,' and speaking brave and noble words, and flinching not from giving them to the world. At the same time, it must be apparent to all who have followed our memoir thus far, that naturally Sibbes was of a ' meek and quiet spirit,' willing to bear and forbear much. I picture him as an English ' Leighton,' as he has been pourtrayed in a little volume of ' poems,' entitled ' The Bishop's Walk.' '^ We have to change very little in the scenery, have but to translate ' Dunblane' to the ' fair garden' lined with elms, of Gray's Inn, or to the acacia-bordered ' Walk' of St Catherine Hall, Cambridge, or, perhaps, to the bosky glades of the Veres, or Brooks, or Man- chesters, or Warwicks. I invite my readers to judge : —
* Clarke, ante p. 144.
t Fuller's ' Worthies,' ante p. 343 of vol. ii.
% TheBishop's Walk and the Bishop's Times, By Orwell. Cambridge : Macmillan, and Co. 1861. The measure will reveal the source of earlier quotations in this memoir ; and certainly the gifted author promises to take a high place among the poets of Scotland, It may be noted here, that among the few Puritan books in th& library of Leighton (preserved at Dunblane) are Sibbes's Bruised Reed (6th edition, 1638) and Soul's Conflict (4th edition, 1638).
CXXVl
MEMOIR OP EICHAKD SIBBES, D.D.
Two hundred years have come and gone, Since that fine spirit mused alone On the dim walk, with faint green shade By the light quivering ash-leaves made, And saw the sun go down Beyond the mountains hrown.
Slow pacing with a lowly-look, Or gazing on the lettered book Of Tauler, or A Kempis, or Meek Herbert with his dulcimer,
In quaintly pious vein
Rehearsing a deep strain :
Or in the Gold-mouthed Greek he read
High rhetoric, or what was said
Of Augustine's experience,
Or of the Gospel's grand defence
Before assembled lords,
In Luther's battle-words.
Slow-pacing, with a downcast eye. Which yet, in rapt devotion high. Sometimes its great dark orb would lift. And pierced the veil, and caught the swift Glance of an angel's wing, That of the Lamb did sing ;
And with the fine pale shadow, wrought Upon his cheek by years of thought. And lines of weariness and pain, And looks that long for home again ; So went he to and fro With step infirm and slow.
A frail, slight form — no temple he,
Grand, for abode of Deity ;
Eather a bush, inflamed with grace,
And trembling in a desert place, And unconsumed with fire. Though burning high and higher.
A frail, slight form, and pale with care» And paler from the raven hair That folded from a forehead free Godlike of breadth and majesty — A brow of thought supreme And mystic, glorious dream.
And over all that noble face Lay somewhat of soft pensiveness In a fine golden haze of thought. That seemed to waver light, and float This way and that way still, With no firm bent of will.
God made him beautiful, to be Drawn to all beauty tenderly. And conscious of all beauty, whether In things of earth or heaven or neither ; So to rude men he seemed Often as one that dreamed.
But true it was that, in his soul, The needle pointed to the pole. Yet trembled as it pointed, still Conscious alike of good and ill ; In his infirmity Looking, 0 Lord, to thee.