Prison-Pietie or, Meditations Divine and Moral. Digested into Poetical Heads, On Mixt and Various Subjects. Whereunto is added A Panegyrick to The Right Reverend, and most Nobly descended, Henry, Lord Bishop of London. By Samuel Speed, Prisoner in Ludgate, London |
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On Death. |
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On Death.
O Death, the Serpents Son,Where is thy sting? once like thy Sire,
With Hellish torments, ever burning fire;
But those dark days are gone.
Thy peevish spite buri'd thy sting
In the sacred and wide
Wound of a Saviour's side.
Now thou'rt become a tame and harmless thing,
A toy we scorn to fear:
For we hear
That our triumphant God to conquer thee
For the assault thou gav'st him on the Tree,
Hath took the keys of Hell out of thy hand,
And forc'd thee stand
As Porter to that gate of Life.
O thou who art the gate, be pleas'd that he,
When we shall die
And that way flie,
May ope the Courts of Heav'n to us through thee.
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