Perhaps for his name, Some works I shall finish with glad loving aim. I still (which is best) Shall in his dear breast, As at the beginning, find pardon and rest. And when I'm to die, For Jesus hath loved me, I cannot say why. But this I do find, We two are so joined, He'll not live in glory and leave me behind. Lo, this is the race I'm running, through grace, Henceforth, till admitted to see my Lord's face. And now I'm in care, My neighbour's may share These blessings: to seek them, will none of you dare? In bondage, O why, And death will you lie, When one here assures you free grace THE DYING CHRISTIAN TO HIS SOUL. THOU thinking, throbbing particle within, Nature's concern and voice appears: When thy pulse fails and eye grows dim, Have made this thought even tenderer to my heart, EPITAPH ON HIMSELF. Ask not, who ended here his span? |