Church poetry : or, Christian thoughts in old and modern verse . dTo think of death, or view the all wrappd up in clouds, as if to theeOur very knowledge had could not a more sad retinue find—Sickness and pain before, and darkness all behind. 268 FUTURE STATE. Some courteous ghost, tell this great secresy, What tis you are and we must warn us of approaching death, and whyMay we not know from you what tis to die ?But you, having shot the gulf, delight to seeSucceeding souls plunge in, with like uncertainty. When lifes close knot, by writ from destiny, Disease
Church poetry : or, Christian thoughts in old and modern verse . dTo think of death, or view the all wrappd up in clouds, as if to theeOur very knowledge had could not a more sad retinue find—Sickness and pain before, and darkness all behind. 268 FUTURE STATE. Some courteous ghost, tell this great secresy, What tis you are and we must warn us of approaching death, and whyMay we not know from you what tis to die ?But you, having shot the gulf, delight to seeSucceeding souls plunge in, with like uncertainty. When lifes close knot, by writ from destiny, Disease shall cut, or age untie ;When after some delays, some dying strife,The soul stands shivering on the ridge of life ;With what a dreadful curiosityDoth she launch out into the sea, of vast eternity ! So when the spacious globe was deluged oer, And lower holds could save no more,On the utmost bough the astonishd sinner stood,And viewd the advances of th encroaching flood ;Oertoppd at length by the elements increase,With horror they resignd to the untried FUTURE STATE. 269 SONNET. Drummond. Why, worldlings, do ye trust frail honours dreams, And lean to gilded glories which decay ? Why do ye toil to registrate your names On icy pillars, which soon melt away ? True honour is not here, that place it claims Where black-browd night doth not exile the day, Nor no far-shining lamp dives in the sea, But an eternal sun spreads lasting beams ; There it attendeth you, where spotless bands Of spirits stand gazing on their sovereign bliss, Where years not hold it in their cankering hands, But who, once noble, ever noble is. Look home, lest he your weakend wit make thrall, Who Edens foolish gardener once made fall. A SAINT RECEIVED IN HEAVEN. Crashaw. Angels, thy old friends, there shall greet thee,Glad at their own home now to meet thee. All thy good works which went before,And waited for thee at the door,Shall own thee there : and all in oneWeave a constellation Aa3 270 FUTURE STATE.
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Keywords: ., bookcentury1800, bookdecade1840, booksubjectreligio, bookyear1848
