Classic Poem

Loaden with earth, as earth by such as I,
In hope of life, in Death's cold arm I lie;
Laid up there, whence I came, as ships near spilt
Are in the dock undone to be new built.
Short was my course, and had it longer bin,
I had return'd but burthen'd more with sin.
Tread on me he that list; but learn withal,
As we make but one cross, so thou must fall,
To be made one to some dear friend of thine,
That shall survey thy grave, as thou dost mine.
Tears ask I none, for those in death are vain,
The true repentant showers which I did rain
From my sad soul, in time to come will bring
To this dead root an everlasting spring.
Till then my soul with her Creator keeps,
To waken in fit time what herein sleeps.