English poem
July 24. The third day
by Philip Pain
How often have I view'd the graves, and gone Unto that place, and yet returned home Again unto my house: The time will bee When I must go, but no returning see. Lord, give me so much grace, that I may be Ever-more mindful of Eternitie.
What mean those show'rs, those drops, that from on high Descend, to call men to Eternity? Both Young and Old, no Sex is spar'd; O why? What is the cause of our Mortality? Lo here it is; A blessed God we have Offended, therefore we must to the grave.
Death strikes the Young man, and the Old man must Yield to Deaths stroke, and return to the dust: Not Strength, nor Beauty, Riches, Honours, lent But for a while, cannot our death prevent. Oh how should we then use these things below, That must be left when we from hence do go.
Man's life it is but lent him here, and he Is but a debtor to Mortalitie. Those fading Comforts that below we have Or do enjoy, will leave us at the grave. Lord, grant that when my Comforts all are gone, I may with Thee have sweet Communion.
This day is past, God mercy shews to me, Who am a Dust-heap of Mortalitie.