Why should we start and fear to die?
What tim’rous worms we mortals are!
Death is the gate of endless joy,
And yet we dread to enter there.


Roll on, sweet moments, roll on,
And let the poor pilgrim go home.

O if my Lord would come and meet,
My soul would stretch her wings in haste;
Fly fearless through death’s iron gate,
Nor feel the terrors as she passed.


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