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John Bakewell died 3/18/1819 at Lewisham, Kent, England.  He was born in 1721, Brailsford, Derbyshire, England (parents unknown).   About 1739 he read the work of Thomas Boston (1676-1732) entitled Fourfold State (Innocence, Nature, Grace, Eternal).  This book was instrumental in Bakewell’s conversion to Christ & he became an fervent evangelist.

Neither the date of his wedding nor his wife’s name were found but he did marry & have a daughter because a son-n-law, Dr. James Egan, is known to have taken his place as director of Greenwich Royal Park Academy.  Bakewell’s circle of friends & acquaintances included Charles & John Wesley, Augustus Toplady, John Fletcher, Madan, & others.  In addition to a few hymns, he wrote at least one article (carried in the Wesleyan Magazine, July 1816) on “Brotherly Love.”  Bakewell penned:

Hail, Thou once despisèd Jesus! Hail,    Thou Galilean King!

Thou didst suffer to release us;    Thou didst free salvation bring.

Hail, Thou universal Savior,    who hast borne our sin and shame!

By Thy merits we find favor;    life is given through Thy name.

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The wind delivered a seed,

(Though nature’s not known for speed)

To a notch in the niche of time.

Delivered its parent weed,

Of what is commonly feed,

For the fowls of the southern clime.

 

Its diameter was flat,

As it lit with a “splat,”

On the aqua that was color lime.

But its profile changed – fat,

As it stood and later sat,

On the comfortable, friendly, bottom slime.

 

All the minerals that were due,

Were there with water too,

Standing well above its newly budded head.

And the warmth that filtered through,

From the sun and wind that blew,

Found it lying, living on its bed.

 

It grew straight and tall,

And the roots – it let them fall,

Opposite of the way the stem had led.

It answered maturity’s strong call,

And produced its one small ball,

Before it left the living for the dead.

 

Now that might have been the end,

Of the tale that I rend,

If there had not been an arthropod,

Who came, the stem to bend,

And tether it to a “friend,”

Out there many yards from sod.

 

The spider’s personal trail,

That descended from his tail,

Took hold of each slim sturdy rod;

Made a home that looked quite frail,

But could withstand any gale,

As planned by The Architect – God.

 

The slender, cylinder, tower died

And in its death was satisfied,

Propagating its own peasant herd.

Little knowing, its form complied,

To the arachnids web that tied

It with another, and then a third.

 

Men may likewise thoughtless be,

About what they leave, effecting eternity;

Failing to understand what has occurred.

Having eyes that cannot see,

Often like you, and like me,

Not giving others a place to gird.  -eab, 10/69

 

Written after dove hunting, west of Hobe Sound, Florida

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Now is our pleasure, in parts divided;

Three ways delighted,

Triplet in nature.

Present, past, future, in thoughts united,

Separately sighted,

In realm of measure.

But in the Land of Bliss, where time is no more,

Pleasure is endless, no after, before.

An eternal kiss, on that wondrous shore.  -eab,  12/1966

 

 

Written in Cincinnati,Ohio              

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