The Treasury Of Sacred Song

W. Davenant

Frail Life! in which, through mists of human breath

We grope for truth, and make our progress slow,

Because by passion blinded; till, by death

Our passions ending, we begin to know.

O reverend Death! whose looks can soon advise

E'en scornful youth, whilst priests their doctrine waste;

Yet mocks us too; for he does make us wise,

When by his coming our affairs are past.

O harmless Death! whom still the valiant brave,

The wise expect, the sorrowful invite,

And all the good embrace, who know the grave

A short dark passage to eternal light.