Classic Poem

Hark , how chimes the Passing Bell,
There's no musick to a knell;
All the other sounds we hear,
Flatter, and but cheat our ear.

This doth put us still in mind
That our flesh must be resign'd,
And a general silence made,
The world be muffled in a shade;
He that on his pillow lies
Tear-enbalmed before he dies,
Carries like a sheep his life,
To meet the sacrificer's knife,
And for eternity is prest,
Sad Bell-wether to the rest.