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Occasional verse, moral and sacred

Published for the instruction and amusement of the Candidly Serious and Religious [by Edward Perronet]

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79

THOUGHTS ON GENESIS, III. 19.

Hasting each day still faster to the tomb,
My parent dust fast seeks its parent womb.
Of dust composed, to dust I now return,
While the dark grave expects me in its urn:
But fit to inhabit that tremendous cell,
Where men with worms, and worms with monarchs dwell,
Why need I fear to lay this body down,
Or tread the courts where death erects his throne?
Why need I fear the regions of the dead?
The deepest grave is but the softest bed.
Nor worms, nor death, the King of Terror's fright,
Nor the dark shades of subterraneous night,
Or need dismay, or can that mind alarm,
That Mercy shelters with her friendly arm.
A spirit, conscious of its peace within,
Preserv'd from horror, as preserv'd from sin;
A soul in whom, and in whose spotless breast,
Its Saviour's mind and image are exprest;
Whose heart devoted, and whose life of grace,
Aims but to run and win the eternal bays:
Like theirs be mine—I then shall vie with them,
Win the same prize, and wear their diadem!