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Reflections on Death

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Summary

The Man how wise who sick of gaudy scenes

Is led by choice to take his fav'rite walk

Beneath Death's gloomy silent Cypress shades

Unpierced by Vanity's fantastic ray

To read his Monuments—to weigh his dust

Visit his vaults and dwell among the tombs!

Young.

Where is the certainty of things

On what in life can we confide

The like attends the Sovereign Kings

The blooming Youth the lovely bride

Death looks around his victims fall

The high & low his summons ’tend

Both rich & poor obey his call

At his command all humbly bend

No earthly ties of dearest kind

Of youthful wife in brides attire

Or children loved in whom we find

All the fond heart can wish desire

Not Parents, Brothers, Sisters dear

Or those we love; Nor with tender sighs

Nor tears avail when Death draws nigh

Vain all their sorrow vain their cries

The unwelcome Messenger of fate

Walks o'er the land with rapid stride

Each memory quick his deeds relate

Our humbling fear we cannot hide

And when he calls us to our home

Calmly resigns us to the grave

We seek the rude wide world to roam

And yet a little longer crave

We fain would stay still longer yet

We cast a lingering look behind

As if t'were pain that world to quit

Where nought but care and grief we find

We dare not think our end is near

But with the constant stream of joy

Repel the sickening thought of Death

Drink pleasures cup without alloy

We swirl in the tempest roar

The wirlwind rushes o'er the main

Destruction waits us at the door

We ne'er can think time's on the wane

Till Death grim Death his arrows throw

Then Man collects his scattered thoughts

Truly forgives each injured foe

Feeling the stream of life cut short

He vainly thinks O could the times

In each successive year return

That he might take the sacred lines

And from that holy volume learn

That it contains the truth reveal'd

That hope of comfort to the heart

The bulwark strong the mighty shield

Able to quench the fiery dart

Which wicked Men in wrath have thrown

Against that holy sacred book

Who cruel brought to nought God's own

All his wise Counsel hath forsook.

Type
Chapter
Information
Michael Faraday’s Mental Exercises
An Artisan Essay-Circle in Regency London
, pp. 132 - 134
Publisher: Liverpool University Press
Print publication year: 2008

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