BE those few hours, which I have yet to spend, <br />Blest with the meditation of my end; <br />Though they be few in number, I'm content; <br />If otherwise, I stand indifferent, <br />Nor makes it matter, Nestor's years to tell, <br />If man lives long, and if he live not well. <br />A multitude of days still heaped on <br />Seldom brings order, but confusion. <br />Might I make choice, long life should be with-stood; <br />Nor would I care how short it were, if good; <br />Which to effect, let ev'ry passing bell <br />Possess my thoughts, next comes my doleful knell; <br />And when the night persuades me to my bed, <br />I'll think I'm going to be buried; <br />So shall the blankets which come over me <br />Present those turfs, which once must cover me; <br />And with as firm behaviour I will meet <br />The sheet I sleep in, as my winding-sheet. <br />When Sleep shall bathe his body in mine eyes, <br />I will believe, that then my body dies; <br />And if I chance to wake, and rise thereon, <br />I'll have in mind my resurrection, <br />Which must produce me to that Gen'ral Doom, <br />To which the peasant, so the prince must come, <br />To hear the Judge give sentence on the Throne, <br />Without the least hope of affection. <br />Tears, at that day, shall make but weak defense, <br />When Hell and horror fright the conscience. <br />Let me, though late, yet at the last, begin <br />To shun the least temptation to a sin; <br />Though to be tempted be no sin, until <br />Man to th'alluring object gives his will. <br />Such let my life assure me, when my breath <br />Goes thieving from me, I am safe in death; <br />Which is the height of comfort, when I fall, <br />I rise triumphant in my funeral.<br /><br />Robert Herrick<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/his-meditation-upon-death/
