'Bless the Lord, O my soul! who
coverest thyself with light, as with a garment; who stretchest out the
heavens like a curtain; who layeth the beams of his chambers in the
waters; who maketh the clouds his chariot; and walketh upon the wings of
the wind!' Ah me! I shall never truly hear that voice more, unless,
through God's mercy, I be permitted to join the saints of light in
praise and thanksgiving beside stiller waters and among greener pastures
than are those of Aquedahcan."

"He was a shining light, indeed," said Mr. Mather, "and, in view of his
loss and that of other worthies in Church and State, we may well say, as
of old, Help, Lord, for the godly man ceaseth!"

Major Willard said that the works of Mr. Johnson did praise him,
especially that monument of his piety and learning, "The History of New
England; or, Wonder-Working Providence of Sion's Saviour," wherein he
did show himself in verse and in prose a workman not to be ashamed.
There was a piece which Mr. Johnson writ upon birchen bark at the head
of the Merrimac, during the journey of which he had spoken, which had
never been printed, but which did more deserve that honor than much of
the rhymes with which the land now aboundeth. Mr. Mather said he had
the piece of bark then in his possession, on which Mr. Johnson did
write; and, on our desiring to see it, he brought it to us, and, as we
could not well make out the writing thereon, he read it as followeth:--

This lonesome lake, like to a sea, among the mountains lies,
And like a glass doth show their shapes, and eke the clouds and skies.
God lays His chambers' beams therein, that all His power may know,
And holdeth in His fist the winds, that else would mar the show.

The Lord hath blest this wilderness with meadows, streams, and springs,
And like a garden planted it with green and growing things;
And filled the woods with wholesome meats, and eke with fowls the air,
And sown the land with flowers and herbs, and fruits of savor rare.

But here the nations know him not, and come and go the days,
Without a morning prayer to Him, or evening song of praise;
The heathen fish upon the lake, or hunt the woods for meat,
And like the brutes do give no thanks for wherewithal to eat.

They dance in shame and nakedness, with horrid yells to hear,
And like to dogs they make a noise, or screeching owls anear.
Each tribe, like Micah, doth its priest or cunning Powah keep;
Yea, wizards who, like them of old, do