A thought of death and glory.

MY soul, come meditate the day, And think how near it stands, When thou must quit this house of clay, And fly to unknown lands.

And you, mine eyes, look down and view The hollow gaping tomb; This gloomy prison waits for you, Whene'er the summons come.

Oh could we die with those who die, And place us in their stead! Then would our Spirits learn to fly, And converse with the dead.

Then should we see the saints above, In their own glorious forms, And wonder why our souls should love To dwell with mortal worms.