Frail Life! in which, through mists of human breath
We grope for truth, and make our progress slow,
Because by passion blinded; till by death
Our passions ending, we begin to know.
O reverend Death! whose looks can soon advise
E'en scornful youth, which priests their doctrine waste;
Yet mock us too; for he does make us wise,
When by his coming our affairs are past.
O harmless Death! whom still the valiant brave,
The wise expect, the sorrowful invite,
And all the good embrace, who know the grave
A shut dark passage to eternal light.