Great Spirits Supervive.

Some parts may perish, die thou canst not all:
The most of thee shall 'scape the funeral.

The less our sorrows here and suff'rings cease,
The more our crowns of glory there increase.

The longer thread of life we spin,
The more occasion still to sin.

If that my fate has now fulfill'd my year,
And so soon stopt my longer living here;
What was't, ye gods, a dying man to save,
But while he met with his paternal grave!
Though while we living 'bout the world do roam,
We love to rest in peaceful urns at home,
Where we may snug, and close together lie
By the dead bones of our dear ancestry.

Be those few hours, which I have yet to spend,
Blest with the meditation of my end;
Though they be few in number, I'm content;
If otherwise, I stand indifferent,
Nor makes it matter, Nestor's years to tell,
If man lives long, and if he live not well.
A multitude of days still heaped on
Seldom brings order, but confusion.
Might I make choice, long life should be with-stood;
Nor would I care how short it were, if good;
Which to effect, let ev'ry passing bell
Possess my thoughts, next comes my doleful knell;
And when the night persuades me to my bed,
I'll think I'm going to be buried;
So shall the blankets which come over me
Present those turfs, which once must cover me;
And with as firm behaviour I will meet
The sheet I sleep in, as my winding-sheet.
W...

Those tapers which we set upon the grave
In fun'ral pomp, but this importance have:
That souls departed are not put out quite;
But as they walked here in their vestures white,
So live in heaven in everlasting light.