English poem
August 2. The 5th day
by Philip Pain
How tremblingly do creatures here appear Before an earthly Judge? what dreadful fear Does seiz upon them at the Bar of him, Who likewise must arraigned be for sin? Lord, grant me here thy grace, and so may I With joy at last behold thy Majesty.
The day of death's a coming; after that A day of Judgment will discriminate, And put a difference 'twixt the Saints and those Who do Gods Wayes and Precepts here oppose. Lord, let me be prepared for that day, That so with joy (Lord) thee behold I may.
The hand of death strikes sure, there's nothing can Obstruct, or hinder it; and every man, Whether he will or no, must know that he Must into dust most surely turned be. O how should I prepare for this since 'tis So sure and certain which I cannot miss.
Death is a surly Sergeant, no respect Hath he to persons, does their tears reject; No bribe will blind his eyes, away we must, If he but call, and return to the dust. Lord, grant that I may death behold with joy, And to my soul let it bring no annoy.
Each minute gives my time a shorter time: Not to prepare for Death is a sad crime.