Classic Poem

No. XI.

Yes ! soon the iron Hand of Death
Must seize my Frame, and stop my Breath,
 And snatch my Soul away.
Methinks I feel its Agonies——
Anhelant, panting, struggling lies
 The agonizing Clay.
Suffus'd with mortal clamm
y Sweat,
Irregular the Pulses beat;
 The Lips hang quiv'ring down;
The Eyes, depress'd and hollow, swim
In dizzy Mists; the vital Stream
 Laggs in its mazy Round.

A deadly Cold from every Part
Benumbs my Limbs, invades my Heart;
 I feel it creeping on!
A ghastly Pale deforms my Cheeks;
And now my falling Jaws relax;
 And now I'm gone! I'm gone!

In a deep Groan the Spirit flies,
Unfetter'd by the former Ties
 Of cumb'rous Flesh and Blood——
But, oh! my Soul, what unknown Place
Through the Immensity of Space
 Shall be thy last Abode?

'Till this important Doubt is solv'd,
My Soul in anxious Fears involv'd,
 No solid Rest can know:
Ah! what's the World and all its Toys
Compar'd to everlasting Joys,
 Or everlasting Woe?

Oh, when I bid the World adieu,
Should Guilt, the Fury, still pursue——
 Shocking, o'erwhelming Thought!
Or should th' infernal Tyrant, Sin ,
Forever reign and rage within——
 Intolerable Lot!

Great God , though one continu'd Cloud
My fleeting Day of Life should shroud,
 Yet be my Evening clear!
Horror my shudd'ring Soul invades
To enter Death's tremendous Shades,
 If Thou be absent there.

Be Witness Heaven; I here protest
My Mind shall never, never rest
 'Till I Thy Presence gain
I'll pray away my vital Breath,
Begging Thy gracious Smiles in Death;
 Nor cease 'til I obtain.