Twice ten years old not fully told <br /> since nature gave me breath, <br />My race is run, my thread spun, <br /> lo, here is fatal death. <br />All men must die, and so must I; <br /> this cannot be revoked. <br />For Adam's sake this word God spake <br /> when he so high provoked. <br />Yet live I shall, this life's but small, <br /> in place of highest bliss, <br />Where I shall have all I can crave, <br /> no life is like to this. <br />For what's this but care and strife <br /> since first we came from womb? <br />Our strength doth waste, our time doth haste, <br /> and then we go to th' tomb. <br />O bubble blast, how long can'st last? <br /> that always art a breaking, <br />No sooner blown, but dead and gone, <br /> ev'n as a word that's speaking. <br />O whilst I live this grace me give, <br /> I doing good may be, <br />Then death's arrest I shall count best, <br /> because it's Thy decree; <br />Bestow much cost there's nothing lost, <br /> to make salvation sure, <br />O great's the gain, though got with pain, <br /> comes by profession pure. <br />The race is run, the field is won, <br /> the victory's mine I see; <br />Forever known, thou envious foe, <br /> the foil belongs to thee.<br /><br />Anne Bradstreet<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/upon-a-fit-of-sickness-anno-1632-aetatis-suae-19/
