A heave of gold, where he, and such as he,

And interrupted only by a cough

Of the mechanic watchman, or the noise

Where decent reverence will had kept her mute,

Stand in His sight approved, who at His feet

As he was nourishd with the self-same bread,

Consumptive, torturing the wasted lungs.

Of health, and active life--health not yet slain,

So in the bitterness of death he lies,

By mans erroneous standard. He discerns

https://read.99csw.comTwere some relief to catch the drowsy cry

Belike his kindred or companions once--

Discredit on the gospels serious truths

Of revel reeling home from midnight cups.

Those are the moanings of the dying man,

Who lies in the upper chamber; restless moans.

And finds no comfort in the sun, but says

For sins black wages. On his tedious bed

Weak Nature fears, though Charity must hope,

"When night c九九藏書omes I shall get a little rest."

Herb, tree, or flower, and prodigal light of heaven.

Hath oer-stockd hell with devils, and brought down,

I wake, and start, and fear to sleep again.

And waits in anguish for the mornings light.

He writhes, and turns him from the accusing light,

No such inordinate difference and vast

For those thus sentenced--pity might disturb

Sight, and familiar objects, man, bird, beast,

And lrｅad.9９ｃsｗ•cｏｍittle images of pleasures past,

What can that do for him, or what restore?

By her enormous fablings and mad lies,

No man on earth is holy calld: they best

Through everlasting ages now divorced,

Of men, his brethren, fashiond of the earth,

And Fancy, most licentious on such themes

Short taste, faint sense, affecting notices,

And salutary fears. The man of parts,

Poet, or prose declaimer, on his couch

In heavn, the saint九_九_藏_書 nor pity feels, nor care,

Their heads encompassed with crowns, their heels

The delicate sense and most divine repose

Of spirits angelical. Blessed be God,

Nor the other grace of life, a good name, sold

From broken visions of perturbed rest

Such disproportiond fates. Compared with Him,

To Him of His won works the praise, His due.

From damned spirits, and the torturing cries

Short years of folly on earth. Their groans unheard

Inｒｅａd•９９csｗ•cｏm chains and savage torments to repent

Their little crowns of virtue cast, and yield

Betwixt the sinner and the saint, to doom

Lolling, like one indifferent, fabricates

The measure of His judgments is not fixd

Tis darkness and conjecture all beyond;

With fine wings garlanded, shall tread the stars

Beneath their feet, heavens pavement, far removed

How total a privation of all sounds,

Some few groans, more, death comes, and there an end.