by Edward Young.
Faith builds a bridge across the gulf of Death,
To break the shock blind Nature cannot shun,
And lands Thought smoothly on the farther shore.
Death's terror is the mountain Faith removes,
That mountain-barrier between men and peace.
'Tis Faith disarms Destruction, and absolves
From every clam'rous charge the guiltless tomb.
The chamber where the good man meets his fate
Is privileged beyond the common walk
Of virtuous life, quite in the verge of heaven.
Fly, ye profane! if not, draw near with awe,
Receive the blessing, and adore the chance
That threw in this Bethesda your disease;
If unrestored by this, despair your cure:
For here resistless demonstration dwells.
A death-bed's a detector of the heart;
Here tired Dissimulation drops her mask,
Through life's grimace that mistress of the scene;
Here real and apparent are the same.
What gleams of joy! what more than human peace!
Where the frail mortal? the poor abject worm?
No, not in death the mortal to be found.
His conduct is a legacy for all,
Richer than Mammon's for his single heir.
His comforters he comforts; great in ruin,
With unreluctant grandeur gives, not yields,
His soul sublime, and closes with his fate.
How our hearts burnt within us at the scene.
Whence this brave bound o'er limits fix'd to man?
His God sustains him in his final hour!
