Though life be welcome to the wise,
Death cannot take him by surprise;
Aware that every day and hour
He holds but at the tyrant's power,
That beauty, talents, worth, are vain.
A moment's respite to obtain.
Nothing more known, and yet how rare
It is with courage to prepare
For this inevitable day!
All hope a little more delay.
One who had suffer'd many a year,
And to a century drew near,
At last complain'd, that unawares
Death came, unsettled his affairs:
"My will is not completely made;
A little time," he trembling said,
"A little longer let me live;
Some warning 'tis but fair to give!
My grandson is expected home;
At least pray, let the doctor come."
"Poor helpless driveller!" Death replied,
"Ten years ago thou should'st have died!
Thy friends, thy foes, thyself outliv'd:
Almost an age thou hast surviv'd:
Some who their day had scarce begun.
Others beneath their noon-tide sun--
Time's deepest lines engrave thy brow,
And dost thou hesitate to go?
Idiot, what warning would'st thou have?
One foot already in the grave:
Sight, hearing, feeling, day by day,
Sunk gradual in a long decay.
I blame myself for my neglect;
Thou'st not a moment to expect!"
When failing nature warns, the sage
Sees death a refuge from old age;
And rising from life's lengthened feast,
Willing retires, a sated guest.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]