From broken visions of perturbed rest
I wake, and start, ao sleep again.
How total a privation of all sounds,
Sight, and familiar objects, man, bird, beast,
Herb, tree, or flower, and prodigal light of heaven.
Twere some relief to catch the drowsy cry
Of the meic wat, or the noise
Of revel reeling home from midnight cups.
Those are the moanings of the dying man,
Who lies in the upper chamber; restless moans.
And interrupted only by a cough
ptive, t the wasted lungs.
So iterness of death he lies,
And waits in anguish for the ms light.
What that do for him, or what restore?
Short taste, faint sense, affeg notices,
And little images of pleasures past,
Of health, and active life--health not yet slain,
Nor the race of life, a good name, sold
For sins black wages. On his tedious bed
He writhes, and turns him from the acg light,
And finds no fort in the sun, but says
"When night es I shall get a little rest."
Some few groans, more, death es, and there an end.
Tis darkness and jecture all beyond;
Weak Nature fears, though Charity must hope,
And Fancy, most litious on such themes
Where det reverence will had kept her mute,
Hath oer-stockd hell with devils, and brought down,
By her enormous fablings and mad lies,
Discredit on the gospels serious truths
And salutary fears. The man of parts,
Poet, or prose declaimer, on his couch
Lolling, like one indifferent, fabricates
A heave of gold, where he, and such as he,
Their heads enpassed with s, their heels
With fine wings garlanded, shall tread the stars
Beh their feet, heavens pavement, far removed
From damned spirits, and the t cries
Of men, his brethren, fashiond of the earth,
As he was nourishd with the self-same bread,
Belike his kindred or panions once--
Through everlasting ages now divorced,
In s and savage torments to repent
Short years of folly oh. Their groans unheard
In heavn, the saint nor pity feels, nor care,
For those thus sentenced--pity might disturb
The delicate sense and most divine repose
Of spirits angelical. Blessed be God,
The measure of His judgments is not fixd
By mans erroneous standard. He diss
No suordinate differend vast
Betwixt the sinner and the saint, to doom
Such disproportiond fates. pared with Him,
No man oh is holy calld: they best
Stand in His sight approved, who at His feet
Their little s of virtue cast, and yield
To Him of His won works the praise, His due.