Perhaps we may say he did so, in spite of his sufferings, for he accepted every trial in a truly Christian spirit, and in a collection of hymns he called ‘Anodynes’ (seeing that their composition afforded him solace when unable to prosecute works which required more research and continuity of work), there is a most pathetic poem on pain, in which he blesses the pangs that bring him nearer his God. He says—
‘One day of pain improves me more
Than years of ease could do before.
By pain God me instructs;
By pain to endless bliss conducts.’
And many such passages indicating his entire submission to the Divine will. His descriptions also of his sleepless nights show us, we were indebted to that very sleeplessness for his hymns for morning, evening, and midnight.
There is a tradition that he composed one of these sacred songs at least while reposing on the beautiful hill which overlooks the house, and is familiarly and fondly called ‘Heaven’s Gate.’ In truth, it is a spot to inspire a poet as well as a painter, more especially when radiant with autumnal tints.
Ken had had enough to do with political troubles, and wisely abstained from interference in public affairs, from the moment of his retirement. He refused to acknowledge his first successor to the see, Dr. Kidder; but on that prelate’s death in 1703, he requested Dr. Hooper to accept his congratulations, signing himself ‘Late Bishop of Bath and Wells.’
The Queen had a great admiration for Ken’s intellectual and moral reputation, and made him an allowance. But his bodily infirmities increased; he went to the hot wells at Bristol, and afterwards to pay a visit to Mrs. Thynne, near Sherborne, where he had a stroke; and wishing to go to Bath, he set forward, but halted at Longleat, where he died. Surely no one could be better prepared to meet death, which he called his final friend. The day before he breathed his last, he told his friends to look in his portmanteau and they would find his shroud, which he always carried with him, saying it might as soon be wanted, as any other of his habiliments.
He was buried, by his own desire, in the nearest parish within his diocese; and there, in Frome churchyard, under the east window of the chancel of St. John’s, a quaint tomb covers the mortal remains of Thomas Ken. Many are the pilgrims who still visit that stone coffin, surmounted by a mitre and pastoral staff.