My worst nightmare
My worst nightmare I dread and fear
To be buried beneath a street far from my dears
I will be long dead and my heart full of dust
The place, the dwell of my wherever lost lust
The wheels and hooves of machines and beasts rolling over my head
My bones will be shaken with pain and dread
This is how it will be
If no one is going to take a heed of me
If into a shallow grave my tattered skeleton is thrust
Imagine only inches beneath a heavy traffic street bust
The gallop of horses and the trot of goats and cows
Will keep their relentless beat with a chorus of crows
Beat into my scalp and my brain
Like never an end to the stream of rushing ants under rain
Heedless of poor me carrying, traveling, hurrying, leaving
In my life I shun away from front busy street living
When the wretched age catch up with my bones
Not a bell will be rang, not a pray or eulogy will be read
It is that which makes us noble in the world of the dead
Just like this lowering me down to my eternal tomb bed?
Ah, my spirit where does it wander where does it pass
My soul where does it dwell in heaven or in hell
In the face of immortality and ancient laws unveil
Deep sleep, eternal doom comes to every sinew and lust
No more pleasant summer night dreams, no more morning first shine
But this eternal entity; all formless kingdom divine
Along my bones the creeping tattered flesh will quake
And my all damped besmeared hair stiffened with dust and thus it spake
Do you find God there in this colossus universe of ultimate justice pure
Or you be-left to deem and contemplate in land of spiritual desolation insecure
Among creatures of grave clay; the vain dwellers of tomb dust
A moth out survive you; a mold digs and borrows under your gravel rust
Things of normal routine day you never see nor attend the dusk of night
Heedless, stale and blind to wisdom and light
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Related quotes
A spirit pass'd before me
A spirit pass'd before me: I beheld
The face of immortality unveil'd.
Deep sleep came down on every eye save mine.
And there it stood,—all formless—but divine;
Along my bones the creeping flesh did quake;
And, as my damp hair stiffen'd, thus it spake.
"Is man more just than God? Is man more pure
Than He who deems even Seraphs insecure?
Creatures of clay—vain dwellers in the dust!
The moth survives you, and are ye more just?
Things of a day! you wither ere the night,
Heedless and blind to Wisdom's wasted light!"
poem by Byron (1815)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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A Spirit Passed Before Me [From Job]
A spirit passed before me: I beheld
The face of immortality unveiled--
Deep sleep came down on every eye save mine--
And there it stood,--all formless--but divine:
Along my bones the creeping flesh did quake;
And as my damp hair stiffened, thus it spake:
'Is man more just than God? Is man more pure
Than He who deems even Seraphs insecure?
Creatures of clay--vain dwellers in the dust!
The moth survives you, and are ye more just?
Things of a day! you wither ere the night,
Heedless and blind to Wisdom's wasted light!'
The Grave Digger
I am a quite, humble, honest and very generous man
who likes to aid people around as much as I can
And I should not be utterly despised for my vocation
Just because I am a grave digger by profession
Indeed, I do not desire or wish the dead
People should live long and loved side by side
Pure life with no baseness, shame or sin to hide
But if no one dies how shall I pay my debts I dread
I pray and mourn any human that rests below
And as the grasses in the cemetery wave
I passionately take care of every stone grave
In passing the dirt and dust I blow
I never wrong a grave with fears and tears untrue
Nor can I be blamed for carrying on my job with no faith
There must be wisdom and sense in death
Life cannot continue forever, once all must be thru
And yet people find but faults in my case
I have never been saluted in friendly grace
They pass me by without leaving any embrace
In a sublime whisper: Here come the funeral face
For I am near you when your light is in halt
when the blood creeps, and the nerves tingle and prick
And the heart heavily throbs; it is tattered and sick
And all the world comes to a close; the wheels of being thwart
Come at night within the cemetery walls
When the moon light shines on time wracked stones
Those who lie with legacies and dreams dead unborn
As the lunar splendor stretches shadows as it falls
Those who lie beneath their fancies and fears
when alive sorrow and grief dug deepening down
And with muffled motions blindly drown
The agony and anguish of their life in tears.
People hate me with deep rancor and loath
Because I am a grave digger in truthful oath
And I am upset full of anguish and misery
Impossible to get a friend, were it not better not to be
Cant they understand all human things are subject to decay
Life do not go forever upon the land
For every beginning there is an end
When fate summons, even monarchs must obey
We all as humans of any color or faith
Hold common scorn and defame to eternal death
The creaking sound of cords lowering us down
As earth returns back to earth with no rising dawn
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Gettysburg
Today at Gettysburg the woods are calm, nodding to and through
With shimmering forms that flash before an observer view
And then melt in green, variety of hues as the dawn stars melt in blue
The smiling leaves wave whitening against one's cheek in peaceful caress
As the hands of shadow widows against the wide meadow still express
Even now, their mighty subtle tenderness over this past battle field duress
Embracing boughs at the wood depth into a little wind whisper start
That noise like the echo of wounded fire heart
The agony of despaired screams coming from lips smoking wide apart
It is all quiet now, the trees dream in balm undisturbed by past wrong
The scenery is innocent in beauty, multiplying and strong
The scent of flowers scan through the valley of breath calm and long
Yet reminiscence does breed the stress and the urgent of war
The haunted ecstasy of humans and beast cries tore
The smoke, the fire, and bullets rushing into blood gore
The wounded, the battled deformed dragged behind steeds neighing roar
This morning the dew plashed road is clear and dry
Rich wreathes grape the spacious foreheads of sturdy pines
And from heights breathe ambrosial passion from their vines
And like a timid child they hide from human eye
As I stroll in past paths, I pray with mosses and flowers shy
And as they lift adoring perfumes to the July sky
I slowly move, with ranging looks that pass
Over corn fields and matted miracles of grass
My route leads me into veined complex of space
Where the vast sky with elongated leafage interlace
So close, so calm the heaven of sapphire is seen
As if in woven with heaven of infinitude pastoral green
One may feel the urge to summon the prophet Ezekiel
Who as that past miracle bones revival, will conjure you from hell
Back to here where I pause, my forward faring eyes
Take these magnificent harvests, where the stately vigorous corn-ranks rise.
Oh spirits passing before me as I behold
Your faces in the kingdom of mortality are unfold
Deep eternal sleep comes to every watching eye
Yet yours came so swiftly unjustly under dire battle sigh
Along your bones the creeping flesh did quiver and quake
As your damp hair stiffened with agony and fear it hardly spake
Is man more just in morals than God? , is man more pure
Than he who deems all of us in basic sinful and insecure?
I do mourn you creatures of clay, vainly fell to dwell in the dust
The fields around beauty and calm survive defiantly of your unjust
Things of the day happen and go about their cause before the night
You are the victims of heedlessness and blindness to wisdom wasted light
For politicians like poets should build up their hardihood
From human humility and universal moral food
Drawn in proportions unselfish un individual fair
From honest mould and vagabond ancient wisdom air
Shall man be eventually wise to learn from antique ashes departed flame
Which can bestow on him finer life and longer fame
From past battle wounds and historical balms
From tempest storm and following peace and calms
From archeological potsherds and dry bones
And ruins of past emperors and lying unturned broken stones
Across Gettysburg the woods are holy and calm
Under summer night they absorb the gorgeous moon charm
The colors of splendid night, as the veils of dusk turn deep
Mother earth takes back her sons' sorrow as it turns to sleep
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Savage Time
Savage cruel Time that in your claws we deposit our trust
And youth, and our joy, and our all, whole we have and hope
And what we are paid back by your deceitful trade? earth and dust
In that dark eternal final state of grave with no upward slope
You take us, pluck us from the world; before we mature our ways
Shut up, closed and wrap in shroud the story of our undone days
Ah, from this earth, this grave this dust none of us revive or last
We are gone abandoned by all around; left with no trust
Daily we count the clock that measures you Time
And we watch bereft of a brave day sinking into hideous night
Our violet timid and shy yields to you its prime
as our heads all silvered over with white
And nothing against your scythe can make defense still
Unless we breed our beauties forth to escape your eternal skill
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Ah a happy lover once was I
Ah a happy lover once was I who had come
To look on her the one I loved so well
She who lightened and rang my gateway bell
Then to learn her gone so far from my heart home
Her departure saddened and dimmed all magic light
Happy time dies off at once from bower and hall
And all places are dark, dark in whole and all
The heart chambers are empty of any delight
I reminisced pleasant memories of a familiar spot
In which we two were wont to meet
Under a tree in an open field, in a chamber down lyric street
Foe all in dark now where you are not
Yet as I walk other streets wandering there
During those heart break deserted walks, I find
A flower beaten down with rain and wind
Which once they fostered up with gentle care
So she left me torn and tattered in deep regret
My forsaken heart my devastated soul
And this shaken flower like our love used to stand tall
Which she used to care for fades not yet
Oh poor love, Oh wilted flower hardly to rejoice the heart nor to please the eye
The force that nourished you is now your own demise and final tomb
Where is the hope that it can ever once again bloom
If dying, let it vanquish in the place where I myself die
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The Immortal Part
When I meet the morning beam,
Or lay me down at night to dream,
I hear my bones within me say,
"Another night, another day.
"When shall this slough of sense be cast,
This dust of thoughts be laid at last,
The man of flesh and soul be slain
And the man of bone remain?
"This tongue that talks, these lungs that shout,
These thews that hustle us about,
This brain that fills the skull with schemes,
And its humming hive of dreams,--
"These to-day are proud in power
And lord it in their little hour:
The immortal bones obey control
Of dying flesh and dying soul.
"'Tis long till eve and morn are gone:
Slow the endless night comes on,
And late to fulness grows the birth
That shall last as long as earth.
"Wanderers eastward, wanderers west,
Know you why you cannot rest?
'Tis that every mother's son
Travails with a skeleton.
"Lie down in the bed of dust;
Bear the fruit that bear you must;
Bring the eternal seed to light,
And morn is all the same as night.
"Rest you so from trouble sore,
Fear the heat o' the sun no more,
Nor the snowing winter wild,
Now you labour not with child.
"Empty vessel, garment cast,
We that wore you long shall last.
--Another night, another day."
So my bones within me say.
Therefore they shall do my will
To-day while I am master still,
And flesh and soul, now both are strong,
Shall hale the sullen slaves along,
Before this fire of sense decay,
This smoke of thought blow clean away,
And leave with ancient night alone
The stedfast and enduring bone.
poem by Alfred Edward Housman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Son That Grew From Lust.
I’m the son the grew from lust, my heart beat dust like a rust nail. I cursed the day I rush out the wound. To be consumed by hate. I’m doom to wait my salvation at state.
I’m the Son that grew from lust, I’m touch by hush. I try to push the tears out like rain clouds.
Lust, it’s such a crush to my soul; I don’t rush to the grave. Time is plush a mince to us. But, I don’t fight to get rid of this hurt that sink my heart, and leave me ajar.
Son, they say, “like father, like son”, but what makes a father leaves his son.
To battle with guns on the street, to battle with life that cheat, and to battle with hate that eat us.
poem by Junius Barnes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Weep For Those Left Behind
Don’t weep for me, but for those, who don’t believe in Him, who rose,
Christ, who rose from a garden tomb, to spare all of us eternal doom.
For they need your prayers instead, for they remain eternally mislead,
A prayer of hope, lifted to Him, to save them from their darkened sin.
Please don’t think I miss this place, I’m up in Heaven by God’s Grace,
It’s His Truth you need to herald, to save others from this sinful world.
Do not mourn as if I am dead, for I’m in Heaven with my Lord instead,
All the others still dead in their sin; they need His Spirit to dwell within.
They have no need to tear for me, for I have started New Life eternally,
Christ has conquered death and fear, and He’s wiped away every tear.
So they need not grieve my fate, the notion of Hell they need to hate,
All those left behind cannot afford, to continue a life without our Lord.
As it’s those who are left behind, who need to have a change of mind,
By changing what they now believe, so Eternal Truth, they can receive.
They truly need a change of heart, before from earth, they also depart,
Then they too can accept Jesus Christ, God’s only way to Eternal Life.
So all of you, who with me rejoice, help all the others with their choice,
Concerning Hell they need to shun, and their need to know God’s Son.
It’s only then, will they truly to know, that all our Savior said is truly so,
Then they shall surely rejoice with us, when in Christ they come to trust.
(Copyright ©06/2008)
Do not disturb the cemetery guard
Do not disturb the cemetery guard
He is in charge of your after life chart
Just lie down, silent and deep in your grave below
And do not yell, stir or ask for a furlough
I know how much you yearn
To know what has become
While you were in your coffin forgotten for some
Or see your relatives and the neighbors
And check their toils, hardship or labors
But you are new in eternity, so much to observe and learn
I know how much you earnestly crave
To burst out to the air from this grave
To you it will be a sense of human generous just
To leave behind, if for a moment all this decay and dust
A repeat may be just for one more time
Grab your books bag in a child prime
And rush in fresh air morning without homework to school
And be rebuked by your teacher 'You dammed fool'
Oh, lie down in your gloom and let wise Nature work her will
And on your clay tomb her darnel will grow
In first years your relatives will visit you when days are bright and still
At your blemished headstone they will bow and whisper low
And tell you of their life, and events you have missed in the show
We all as humans of any color or faith
Hold common scorn and defame to eternal death
The creaking sound of cords lowering us down
As earth returns back to earth with no rising dawn
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Learn to obey the rout of your destiny
Learn to obey the rout of your destiny
And follow the horizon to its final edge
For you do not abode where the internal are
Nor your nostrils breathe air among the stars
Your path in the universe is not an endless orbit
But too straight line, narrow and languid
Short without the touch of heavenly infinitude
Brief upon the face of earth
Scarcely touched by happiness and mirth
Your pace never crosses and never runs with these orbs
Of mingling lights
And you estrange in the harmony of universe delight
Sweet mother earth’s womb
Where you feed and thrive
Is your final end and your dark tomb
Go search the great cities, the pride
The paradise and glory of ancient days
Now in grave of wilderness hide
Their wrecks like torn waves of vexed sea foam plays
Their monuments like shattered mountains rise
And wild weeds and baleful copses, dress
The bones of their desolation's nakedness
By the edge, gray walls molding in their duds falling prize
On their mow dull time feeds
like slow fire upon a hoary torch lulling peaks
While the laughing flowers along the grass are spread
As an infant smile over the coffin of a dead
Those mighty ages those power full empires
Dreadful tyrants and savage emperors
The all lie buried in the ravage they have wrought
For what their memory can lend you borrow not
Submit to the laws of thee nature
And follow the lights whose smile kindle the universe nurture
The ORA and splendor that in the firmament of time dwell
That may never be eclipsed or veiled
The glory of mountains's peak blazed with morning sun
That at early dawn to its extreme heights climbs
Leaving death, down beneath collied clouds
To roam in our celestial world
with low mist that cannot blot
The eternal light or veil the human spirit
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I dread the calm
I dread the calm in the morning of a mourn without a sound
It is a calm that comes to foster a greater grief
It is a calm light of dusk before ever dew was falling from leaves
It is a calm sinking in calm pattering to the ground
I fear the calm and scudding winds in the high wold
And on the dews the drench the gorse
And all the silvery gossamer
Shaken into gilded gold
Is it calm and still in the dusky light over great plains
That sweeps late and swiftly in autumn bowers
Of secluded farms and solitary towers
To merge with the bounding and the saint
Is it calm on the vast sea under the spangled silver sleep
The waves that sway in colossus to lull themselves to rest
And the dead calm in the deepening breast
Which heaves with the heaving deep
Yet calm is the mute peace in the meadow’s air
The forest gloom with loom of leaves that redden to fall
And in my chest if calm can ever dwell at all
If any calm is there, it is the calm of despair
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Hymn 82
God far above creatures.
Job 4:17-21.
Shall the vile race of flesh and blood
Contend with their Creator God?
Shall mortal worms presume to be
More holy, wise, or just than he?
Behold, he puts his trust in none
Of all the spirits round his throne:
Their natures, when compared with his,
Are neither holy, just, nor wise.
But how much meaner things are they
Who spring from dust, and dwell in clay!
Touched by the finger of thy wrath,
We faint and vanish like the moth.
From night to day, from day to night,
We die by thousands in thy sight;
Buried in dust whole nations lie
Like a forgotten vanity.
Almighty Power, to thee we bow;
How frail are we, how glorious thou!
No more the sons of earth shall dare
With an eternal God compare.
poem by Isaac Watts
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Lamp of Poor Souls
[In many English churches before the Reformation there was kept a little lamp continually burning, called the Lamp of Poor Souls. People were reminded thereby to pray for the souls of those dead whose kinsfolk were too poor to pay for prayers and masses.]
Above my head the shields are stained with rust,
The wind has taken his spoil, the moth his part;
Dust of dead men beneath my knees, and dust,
Lord, in my heart.
Lay Thou the hand of faith upon my fears;
The priest has prayed, the silver bell has rung,
But not for him. O unforgotten tears,
He was so young!
Shine, little lamp, nor let thy light grow dim.
Into what vast, dread dreams, what lonely lands,
Into what griefs hath death delivered him,
Far from my hands?
Cradled is he, with half his prayers forgot.
I cannot learn the level way he goes.
He whom the harvest hath remembered not
Sleeps with the rose.
Shine, little lamp, fed with sweet oil of prayers.
Shine, little lamp, as God's own eyes may shine,
When He treads softly down His starry stairs
And whispers, "Thou art Mine."
Shine, little lamp, for love hath fed thy gleam.
Sleep, little soul, by God's own hands set free.
Cling to His arms and sleep, and sleeping, dream,
And dreaming, look for me.
poem by Marjorie Lowry Christie Pickthall
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Poking At Truth
Avoiding Truth comes with cost, but this is the choice of the lost.
Oppose God through evil desire and you will live in the Lake of Fire.
Continue ignoring The Blessed Cross and you’ll suffer eternal loss.
Believing that they do believe, but New Life is just a joke you see.
They say there’s no absolutes anymore, but are they absolutely sure?
There’s no sin it’s in your head, this proves your spiritually dead.
Sin is real, it’s in your heart and without The Lord you will depart.
There’s no God, that’s a joke, but on these very words they’ll choke.
Man did fall as it was written, for the forbidden fruit was bitten.
All have sinned, this you know, but He’ll wash you whiter than snow.
Christ died for you and for me, my friend He died for us upon a tree.
He died so you may see His face and save you from eternal disgrace.
If you think that all men are saved, why are so many still depraved?
If you think that all men are well, why is there a place called Hell?
Hell is not a place of eternal fun, instead a place to fear and shun.
But Heaven you don’t want to miss, for it’s a place of Eternal Bliss.
The fool says there is no God, but this poor soul will see His rod.
Men have boasted of empty pride, many of whom have long since died.
A fool once said God is dead, but who wound up in the grave instead?
Choosing the steps in life to trod they now must face The Living God.
The Bible is just another book, but you need to take another look.
Just take a look and you will see God’s divinely fulfilled prophecy.
If The Bible is from men not seers, how was it done over 1500 years?
My friend, have you not heard that Jesus Himself is The Living Word.
Shallow Grave
When I fall in endless sleep
I hope that I'll be buried deep
Let me be the one that fortune favours
Even good children got shallow graves
Throw another clown to the lions
Throw another Joan on the blaze
Cast me away on the cruel calm ocean
and leave me for days and days and days and days and days
I won't lie in this poor shallow grave
I won't lie, I won't lie in this poor shallow grave
Dig me down deep where the dead men sleep
I won't lie in this poor shallow grave
Bless the poor 'cos like the rich
They all end up in a ditch
In this world of fools and knaves
Even good children got shallow graves
The tinker, the tailor, the fabulous five
Nobody gets out of this alive
Chorus
Dig me down deep where the dead men sleep
I won't lie in this poor shallow grave
Dig me down deep where the dead men sleep
I won't lie in this poor shallow grave
Dig me down, dig me down, dig me down deep
I won't lie in this poor shallow grave
song performed by by Elvis Costello
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I love you no more
I love you no more
I run from you at every open door
When I think of you my blood is cold
My tears are dry, my days grow old
I deem myself without you an empty life
A state of constant, stale, and vain strife
My hands start to shake
My skeleton rattles to break
And my heart is torn to pieces
My chest bursts
My veins explode
Drag me behind a galloping horse
Roll me from mountain heights
Turn off on me the world's lights
I will hear your voice no more
It will echo in the chamber of my heart
Lingering my pain, burning my flesh
Pounding my head, dashing my soul
I will bring you flowers no more
The sun from the sky has disappeared long
The birds among the trees stop their song
The cat had changed its voice in its corner crumbled
The dog had barked at me in dismay; I trembled
And my heart cries for mercy
My throat is choked with a strange disease
No medicine can redeem its ease
I will stop an ocean from flow
I will quench the volcano mountain from glow
I will block an avalanche or a whirling rain
But it is all in vain
No rest, No escape from your love
From your laugh
From your face
From your little perfect frame.
By foul, starry night I lingered on the damp lawn
for underfoot the hub was dry
And genial warmth, and over the sky
The silky haze of summer drawn
By its edge only one light cloud left
A reminder of the storm that passed
Of the love we lived of the life we shared
That came to an end
That was so soon cut short
Before we had time to grow old together
To feel to grasp the glory of the moment
The splendor of our rose
Pour acid on my face, guillotine my head
Announce to the world that I am dead
Cut the olive tree and shape my coffin
Chose the spot and dig my grave
Dig it deep beneath the earth
So I will avoid your laugh
So I will not hear your steps
Yet I doubt of all of this will help
You are imprinted in my soul
My grave is not an escape at all.
The bats went round endlessly in fragrant summer skies
And wheeled over and lit the filling shapes
That haunt the dusk with ermine capes
And woolly breasts and beaded eyes
An odd hunger seized my heart, so as if I only read
Of that glad years which once had been
In those fallen leaves which reaped their green
And now lie brown on the ground dead
And strangely on the silence around me broke
The silent speaking words, and strange
was love's dumb cry defying, ignoring our life's change
To test our worth to scrutinize the words we spoke
I am out of faith, of vigor, of bold, of walk of breath of dwell
No hope in sight, no wishing well
I live on doubts that drive the coward back
As if my life has no start no end no track
For suggestions to my inmost all
And all at once it seemed at last
The living soul, the solutions of all was flushed
But it is all too late, my love
Our love was brought to its final rest
Around its grave the flowers will grow and spread
Like infants peeping over a coffin of the dead
And my heart is sobbing
My soul sails in sea of sore and grief
An endless torture under unbreakable lease
I seek the strength in lying
Turn off the lights I am dying
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Eternal Truths
In God’s Word you will hear, Eternal Truths, all men should fear,
A fear that comes as you heed, the Truths of God that you read,
Eternal Truths for all us to see, revealed by God to you and me,
A Divinely inspired Revelation, by God to lead men to salvation.
Revealing His Truth, for us to tell, others about Heaven and Hell,
Through the Holy Spirit of Christ, He shows eternal truths of life,
And He, who gave all men breath, speaks to all of eternal death,
God sets right before everyone, death or Eternal Life in His Son.
The fear God puts in me and you, is reverence to see us through,
To Guide us on this temporal earth, to that place of eternal worth,
As God moves upon our heart, with a Love, which will not depart,
And a fear that makes men wise, as His Spirit opens up our eyes.
They just say we have no proof, about God’s Word we call Truth,
And so God’s Truth they deny, embracing instead, the Devil’s lie;
Although you will die my friend, the eternal soul will have no end,
Your body in the ground may rot, but, your eternal soul shall not.
Some may read and simply say, that all men will just die anyway,
With no care at all, when or why, or where they go when they die,
But, every soul at its last breath, will face God and eternal death,
Unless a soul knows Jesus Christ, then he enters into eternal life.
(Copyright ©02/2008)
Hymn 91
Advice to youth; or, Old age and death in an unconverted state.
Eccl. 12:1,7; Isa. 45:20.
Now in the heat of youthful blood
Remember your Creator God:
Behold, the months come hast'ning on,
When you shall say, "My joys are gone!"
Behold, the aged sinner goes,
Laden with guilt and heavy woes,
Down to the regions of the dead,
With endless curses on his head.
The dust returns to dust again;
The soul, in agonies of pain,
Ascends to God, not there to dwell,
But hears her doom, and sinks to hell.
Eternal King! I fear thy name;
Teach me to know how frail I am;
And when my soul must hence remove,
Give me a mansion in thy love.
poem by Isaac Watts
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Who would be there to tell me
Who would be there to tell me
When I catch my falling star
where all my past years are
Many friends of mine in owe and plea
The ones I stirred for love like industrious bee
Here rests his head upon the lap of earth
A man to fortune and to fame is unknown
Fair science frowned not in his humble birth
And misfortune with melancholy marked him for their own
Large was his bounty, and his soul sincere
Heaven did a recommence as largely said
He gave to misery all he had, a tear
He gained from Heaven, it was all he wished, he never fret
No further seek his merits to disclose
Or draw his frailties from their clear abode
There they alike in trembling hope repose
The bosom of his soul believes and God
Let the moon climb over the grave into the vaults of the skies
How silent is the world, and how with a wane dimming face
What, may it be that even in Heavenly eternal place
This divine archer, this Queen of the night her sharp arrows tries
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