Well, as we finish off the month of May, I'm going to give you a little bit of a sneak peak for the next few months.

We will be taking the Puritans to the beach with us. That's right. On five minutes, we are going to be talking about Puritan books you should be taking to the beach.

Well, let's get a little jump on that, and let's talk about a Puritan not from Old England, but a Puritan from New England.

And this is the poet Anne Bradstreet. She is in fact America's first published poet, and she was a Puritan of Puritans. She was born in 1612 in Old England, and she died in 1672 in Massachusetts.

Now Anne Bradstreet is not a new name here at Five Minutes in Church History. We visited with her before.

I'm quite partial to Anne Bradstreet because my wife, the other Dr. Nichols, has written a book on Anne Bradstreet, and this, of course, no bias here, is such a great book.

Just consider the opening paragraphs of my wife's book on Anne Bradstreet. She writes,

just three years before her death, Anne Bradstreet penned verses, whose tired couplets describe a longing for eternity and escape from the cares of this world, comparing herself to a, quote, weary pilgrim, end quote,

who has experienced such hardships as burning sun, stormy rains, briars and thorns, hungry wolves, and rugged stones.

Bradstreet voices her desire to complete her spiritually and physically taxing pilgrimage.

My wife then quotes from one of her poems, a pilgrim eye on earth perplexed, with sin, with cares and sorrows vexed, by age and pains brought to decay, and my clay house moldering away.

My wife continues Bradstreet longs for the resurrection, and eternity spent with Christ, for release from her physical limitations and sufferings, and for freedom from separation and loss.

And so again, Bradstreet, oh, how I long to be at rest, and soar on high among the blessed.

This body shall in silent sleep, mine eyes no more shall ever weep, no fainting fits shall me a sail, nor grinding pains my body frail, with cares and fears near comfort be, nor losses no, nor sorrow see.

My wife adds no doubt Bradstreet had good reason to be weary. She had survived the ravages of smallpox, and had, throughout her life, encountered numerous illnesses.

She had experienced old England at a time of brewing hostility toward the non-conformist Puritans, under James I, Charles I, and the infamous Archbishop Lod.

She had survived a potentially treacherous voyage to the new world, and had borne up under the same harsh conditions in the Massachusetts Bay colony that had snuffed out the lives of many of her fellow settlers.

She had possessed, for decades, a first-hand view of the political and religious turmoil of a young colony experiencing growing pains that often embroiled her husband and father in conflict.

And later in life, she had experienced her own personal tragedies, including the burning of her house, and the deaths of numerous family members.

Of course, this is not to mention that during these many hardships, Bradstreet had reared eight children, she had negotiated the precarious role of a woman writer, becoming the first published American poet.

To be sure, Bradstreet had lived an eventful life, certainly privileged in many ways, but likewise full of testing.

And for this, she had good reason to relish eternal rest.

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