Classic Poem

In black procession, sad and slow,
About the streets the mourners go:
Man comes to make his long abode,
Where darkness dwells and worms corrode.

There busy life, there pleasure ends,
And tie of blood, and tie of friends.
There ends probation's hour, and there
Virtue's hard strife with sin and care.

Why for vain riches do I toil,
Gath'ring for death a larger spoil?
Why for this dying flesh purvey,
The sinful pleasures of a day?

Why cling so closely to my heart
Kindred and friends? we soon must part!
And wherefore do I waste the span
Of mercy limited to man?

The pious few O let me join,
And with their faith my breath resign;
That their hereafter mine may be,
Ev'n mine their blest eternity.