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The Passing Bell.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 


66

The Passing Bell.

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 enbalm'd before he dies,
Carries like a sheep his life,
To meet the sacrificers knife,
And for eternity is prest,
Sad Bell-weather to the rest.