O man! this building fair and proud,
From its foundation to the cloud,
Is all in dangerous plight;
Beneath thee quakes and shakes the ground;
'Tis all, e'en down to hell's profound,
A bog that scares the sight.
The sin man wrought, the deluge brought,
And without fail
A fiery gale,
Before which every thing shall quail,
His deeds shall waken now;
Worse evermore, till all is o'er,
Thy case, O world, shall grow.
There's one place free, yet, man for thee,
Where mercies reign,
A place to which thou may'st attain,
Seek there a residence to gain
Lest thou in caverns howl;
For save thou there shalt quick repair,
Woe to thy wretched soul!

Towards yon building turn your face!
Too strong by far is yonder place
To lose the victory.
'Tis better than the reeling world;
For all the ills by hell uphurl'd
It has a remedy.
Sublime it braves the wildest waves;
It is a refuge place
Impregnable to Belial's race,
With stones, emitting vivid rays,
Above its stately porch;
Itself, and those therein, compose
The universal church.
Though slaves of sin we long have been,
With faith sincere
We shall win pardon there;
Then in let's press, O, brethren dear,
And claim our dignity!
By doing so, we saints below
And saints on high shall be.

A Vision of Death in his Palace Below.

In one of the long, black, chilly nights of winter, when it was much
warmer in a kitchen of Glyn-cywarch, than on the summit of Cadair Idris,
and much more pleasant to be in a snug chamber, with a warm bed-fellow,
than in a shroud in the church yard, I was mussing upon some discourses
which had passed between me and a neighbour, upon _the shortness of human
life_, and how certain every one is of dying, and how uncertain as to the
time. Whilst thus engaged, having but newly laid my head down upon the
pillow, and being about half awake, I felt a great weight coming
stealthily upon me, from the crown of my head to my heel, so that I could
not stir a finger, nor any thing except my tongue, and beheld a lad upon
my breast, and a lass mounted upon his back. On looking sharply, I
guessed, from the warm smell which came from him, his clammy locks, and
his gummy eyes, that the lad must be _master Sleep_. "Pray, sir," said
I, squealing, "what have I done to you, that you bring that witch here to
suffocate me?" "Hush," said he, "it is only my sister _Nightmare_; we
are both going to visit our brother _Death_, and have need of a third,
and lest you shou