Isaac Watts; his life and writings, his homes and friends

by Edwin Paxton Hood

This was a field to bury strangers in;

Fragments from families untimely reft,

Like spoils in flight, or limbs in battle left,

Lay there[45]⸺

The subsequent history of the place justifies another characterization from the same poet:

For they were there to this Siberia sent,

Doomed in the grave itself to banishment.

As a humble cemetery for the purposes we have mentioned, it had been enclosed at the charge of the Corporation, but for this purpose it was not long needed; and when the ravages of persecution succeeded to those of disease, one Tyndall purchased it, principally for the interment of Dissenters, and it became known as Tyndall’s Burying Ground. The first interment in this second epoch of its funereal history dates from the first distinctly legible stone in the year 1668. Twenty years after this, it received the beloved and revered remains of John Bunyan; in the interim, many of those who had been among the foremost religious actors, preachers, and writers of the time came hither—Thomas Goodwin, Thomas Manton, Joseph Caryl, Theophilus Gale, John Owen, William Jenkyn, Henry Jessey, William Kiffin, Hanserd Knollys, and many others. In this spot almost every order of religious outlawed opinion finds some representative: here reposes the active body of Daniel Defoe, and in Bunhill Fields, but in a spot set apart to those of his opinion, rests the founder of the Society of Friends, George Fox; and here that revered and holy woman, from whose household in the Rectory of Epworth went forth the inspiration, as from her own life went forth the lives of the prophet and poet of Methodism, Mrs. Susannah Wesley; here rest two well-beloved sweet singers, whose names are found in all our hymn-books, Joseph Swain and Joseph Hart. As the years passed along every one brought some additional revenue to the wealth of the spot. Hither came Dr. Gibbons, Watts’ biographer, and, by-and-by, John Gill, the author of the huge commentary, if wild in fancy, still learned in all Rabbinical and Hebrew lore, and John Macgowan, the author of the “Dialogues of Devils;” here rests Dr. Williams, the founder of the well-known library, and donor of the scholarships connected with it, and by this name we are reminded of the great Arians who sleep very quietly here. Here lie Theophilus Lindsay, Abraham Bees, Richard Price, Nathaniel Gardner, and Thomas Belsham, all men of huge scholarship, whatever our estimate of their doctrines; here lies, of another order, the learned John Eames, the friend and fellow-student of Dr. Watts, the friend and correspondent of Sir Isaac Newton, and of whom Watts said that he was the most learned man he ever knew; Thomas Bradbury, Watts’ abusive and disingenuous traducer and adversary, found the quiet he never permitted himself to find when living, either in tranquil or troublesome times; and hither, within the memory of those living, came Matthew Wilks, quaint and witty old preacher of the London Tabernacles, and his fiery-hearted and earnest co-pastor, John Hyatt, and James Upton, John Rippon, and the beloved and beautiful Alexander Waugh and George Burder. The names we have mentioned are great, but a very small instalment from the list of those famous in holiness and scholarship and sanctified genius, to whom Bunhill Fields was the Machpelah of their lives. Indeed, until the opening of the Abney Park Cemetery, a place which derived its name and interest from its association with, and memories of, Dr. Watts, Bunhill Fields was the receptacle of every Nonconformist notability in the neighbourhood of London. It was as natural that those who had attained an eminence in its confession should receive sepulture there, as that the great statesman or poet should repose within the hallowed naves of Westminster. The significance of the spot, and the fact that it received amongst its other treasures all that was mortal of the subject of this memoir, seem to justify this lengthy loitering amongst its tombs.

Watts, by his will, directed that his remains should find their last resting-home in this place, amongst the fathers and brethren, many of whom he had so well known; he also desired that it should be conducted as quietly as possible, but wished that his body should be attended to the grave by two Independent, two Presbyterian, and two Baptist ministers; but an immense concourse of persons gathered, as was to be expected. Dr. Chandler gave the address at the grave, and Dr. David Jennings preached to his people the funeral sermon. Returning from the funeral, Dr. Benjamin Grosvenor was met by a friend, who said, “Well, Doctor, you have seen the end of Dr. Watts, and must soon follow him; what think you of death?” “Think of it!” replied he, “why, when death comes I shall smile on him if God smile on me.” Other funeral sermons were preached, and they are in our possession, especially one by Dr. John Milner, of which Doddridge thought very highly, and in whose house Oliver Goldsmith, a poor, simple young man, his mind and heart full of worlds of shrewdness and tenderness, for a long time lived as an usher. To prevent any laboured and too flattering an epitaph, which in those days, indeed, there was plenty of cause to dread, from the hands of partial friends, who certainly had none of the graces of concision, Watts wrote his own modest memorial, and it was placed over his grave. It reads as follows:

“Isaac Watts, D.D., pastor of a church of Christ in London, successor to the Rev. Mr. Joseph Caryl, Dr. John Owen, Mr. David Clarkson, and Dr. Isaac Chauncey, after fifty years of feeble labours in the Gospel, interrupted by four years of tiresome sickness, was at last dismissed to his rest—