Classic Poem

I am sitting on the grave—
and that couch is cold enough,
not knowing how long may be the time
till I am drawn into its bourne;
a flannel shroud, a linen shirt
and a black, close-built chest of boards—
'tis all that goes with me beneath the sod,
however much substance I accumulate.

'Tis little heed we pay to death
as long as we are strong and young;
we imagine if we get a respite
that it is our portion to remain alive.
We may discern from the case of others,
who are departing from us every day,
it is our lot by nature at all times
that death is pressing closer unto us.

Exceeding heavy is my sin,
and this is grievous to me now:
oft do I think how many times
I have broken the commandment,
through my evil mind's desire,
with which my body was possessed,
remembering not God's sovereignty,
by devotion in my word or work.

Though my sin of commission is great,
and I am guilty by Adam's first sin,
I have been dearly ransomed by blood,
poured out profusely on the ground;
it is my hope—'tis no vain expectation—
to be granted mercy for its sake,
and that my soul will be embraced in peace,
solely in virtue of Christ's suffering.

I have confidence in Christ
that He will never forsake me;
that, when my body is laid down
in lowly state under the ground,
my soul will be raised up
to the kingdom of power and grace;
and that my couch will be sheltered
close to the throne of the Most High.

My fear of death would not exist
though it came to me without delay,
provided I were free from sin,
after my affection for it;
my hope is in the living God
that He will show me mercy now,
and bring me within a holy place,
along with Moses and Abraham.

Now I shall take my farewell of the people,
ceding full rights to them in my utterance;
I shall leave with them all that the thoughts,
which surged within my head, amassed;
that so they will remark to one another,
“Unless we read each verse ourselves,
to whom can we apply for them,
now that the poet is no more?”