I sink,
And endless darkness wraps me round!
Yes, Death, is ever at my hand,
Fast by my bed he takes his stand,
And constant at my board is found.

Earth, air and fire, and water join
Against this fleeting life of mine,
And where for succour can I fly?
If art with flattering wiles pretend
To shield me like a guardian friend,
By Art, ere Nature bids, I die.

I see this tyrant of the mind,
This idol Flesh to dust consigned,
Once call'd from dust by power divine:
Its features change, 'tis pale, 'tis cold--
Hence dreadful spectre! to behold
Thy aspect, is to make it mine.

And can I then with guilty pride,
Which fear nor shame can quell or hide,
This flesh still pamper and adorn?
Thus viewing what I soon shall be,
Can what I am demand the knee,
Or look on aught around with scorn?

But then this spark that warms, that guides,
That lives, that thinks, what fate betides?
Can this be dust, a kneaded clod!
This yield to death! the soul, the mind,
That measures heaven, and mounts the wind,
That knows at once itself and God?

Great Cause of all, above, below,
Who knows thee must forever know,
Immortal and divine!
Thy image on my soul imprest,
Of endless being is the test,
And bids Eternity be mine.

Transporting thought!--but I am sure
That endless life will joy secure?
Joys only to the just decreed!
The guilty wretch expiring goes,
Where vengeance endless life bestows,
That endless mis'ry may succeed.

Great God, how awful is the scene!
A breath, a transient breath between;
And can I jest, and laugh and play?
To earth, alas! too firmly bound,
Trees, deeply rooted in the ground,
Are shiver'd when they're torn away.

Vain joys, which envy'd greatness gains,
How do ye bind with silken claims,
Which ask Herculean strength to break!
How with new terrours have ye arm'd
The power whose slightest glance alarm'd!
How many deaths of one ye make!

Yet, dumb with wonder, I behold
Man's thoughtless race in errour bold,
Forget or scorn, the laws of death;
With these no projects coincide,
Nor vows nor toils, nor hopes they guide,
Each thinks he draws immortal breath.

Each blind to fate's approaching hour,
Intrigues, or fights for wealt