Classic Poem

Cast down but not destroyed, chastened not slain:
Thy Saints have lived that life, but how can I?
I, who thro' dread of death do daily die
By daily foretaste of an unfelt pain.
Lo, I depart who shall not come again;
Lo, as a shadow I am flitting by;
As a leaf trembling, as a wheel I fly,
While death flies faster and my flight is vain.
Chastened not slain, cast down but not destroyed: —
If thus Thy Saints have struggled home to peace,
Why should not I take heart to be as they?
They too pent passions in a house of clay,
Fear and desire, and pangs and ecstasies;
Yea, thus they joyed who now are overjoyed.