July 25. The 4th day

Alas poor Death, where does thy great strengthlye? 'Tis true, I'me mortall, yet I cannot dye. I tell thee, If I dye in Christ, it is The way thou shew'st me to eternal bliss. By death live if that I live to Christ, And then thou'st say the mark I have not mist.

Alas, what's Sorrow? 'tis our portion here; The Christian's portion, Trouble, Grief, and Fear: He is The Man of Sorrows here below Of all the men on earth; yet let us know, Christ left his Grave-clothes, that we might when grief Draws tears, or blood, not want in Handkerchief.

Is Death so formidable? Can the chance Of one poor day change our fresh Countenance? Is there so much in Death, that we should be Like Children frighted at our destiny? Of Heaven give me assurance (Lord) and I Shall ne're believe Death looks so dreadfully.

Could I in greatness farre surmount the skie, Or yet in glory could the Sun out-vie; Could I be more then any man that lives, Great, Fair, Rich, Wise, all in Superlatives: Yet if I were still mortal, there would be A debt still to be paid to death by me.

Lord, as thou givest me more hours to live, So with it, Oh do thou thy grace me give.