July 20, 1766, Plymouth, England.
October 10, 1799, possibly in Birmingham, England.
Pearce was the son of a silversmith in Plymouth.
Early in life he joined the Baptist Church in Plymouth, and, showing gifts for the ministry, was invited to preach. After a course of study at the Baptist College in Bristol, he became pastor of the Baptist congregation in Cannon Street, Birmingham, in 1790.
Pearce was strongly disposed to foreign mission work, and was one of the founders of the Baptist Missionary Society in 1792.
His Memoirs, by Andrew Fuller, were published in 1800, and included eleven poetical pieces. In the second edition, 1801, these pieces were grouped together at the end of the Memoirs.
The fabric of nature is fair,
But fairer the temple of grace;
To saints ’tis the joy of the earth—
Oh glorious, beautiful place!
In temple I once did consort,
With crowds of the people of God;
Enraptured, we entered its court,
And hailed the Redeemer’s abode.
The Father of nature we praised,
And prostrated low at His throne;
The Savior we loved and adored,
Who loved us and made us His own.
Full oft to the message of peace,
To sinners addressed from the sky,
We listened, extolling that grace,
Which set us, once rebels, on high.
Faith clave to the crucified Lamb;
Hope, smiling, exalted its head;
Love warmed at the Savior’s dear name,
And vowed to observe what He said.
What pleasure appeared in the looks
Of brethren and sisters around!
With transport all seemed to reflect,
The blessings in Jesus they’d found.
Sweet moments! If aught upon earth
Resemble the joys of the skies,
’Tis thus when the hearts of the flock
Conjoined to the Shepherd arise.
But ah! these sweet moments are fled,
No turtledove voice sings today;
Pale sickness has chained me in bed
As moments are hasting away.
My God! Thou art holy and good,
Thy plans are all righteous and wise;
Oh help me submissive to wait,
Till Thou bid Thy servant arise.
When following Thee in Thy courts,
May I be all ardor and zeal,
Success and increasing delight,
Performing the whole of Thy will.
If I am in bondage detained,
To visit thy temples no more;
Prepare me for mansions above,
Where nothing exists to deplore!
Where Jesus the Sun of the place,
Refulgent, incessantly shines,
Eternally blessing His saints,
And pouring delight on their minds.
There—there are no prisons to hold
The captive from tasting delight;
There—there the day never is closed
With shadows, or darkness, or night.
There myriads and myriads shall meet,
Our Savior’s high praises to join;
Transported, we fall at His feet,
Extolling redemption divine.
Enough then, my heart shall no more
Its present bereavements complain;
For ere long to glory I’ll soar,
And ceaseless enjoyments attain!
Memoirs, 1801, pp. 194–96, alt.