He who sits from day to day <br />Where the prisoned lark is hung, <br />Heedless of his loudest lay, <br />Hardly knows that he has sung. <br /> <br />Where the watchman in his round <br />Nightly lifts his voice on high, <br />None accustomed to the sound, <br />Wakes the sooner for his cry. <br /> <br />So your verse man I, and clerk, <br />Yearly in my song proclaim <br />Death at hand -- yourselves his mark-- <br />And the foe's unerring aim. <br /> <br />Duly at my time I come, <br />Publishing to all aloud,-- <br />Soon the grave must be your home, <br />And your only suit a shroud. <br /> <br />But the monitory strain, <br />Oft repeated in your ears, <br />Seems to sound too much in vain, <br />Wins no notice, wakes no fears. <br /> <br />Can a truth, by all confessed <br />Of such magnitude and weight, <br />Grow, by being oft impressed, <br />Trivial as a parrot's prate? <br /> <br />Pleasure's call attention wins, <br />Hear it often as we may; <br />New as ever seem our sins, <br />Though committed every day. <br /> <br />Death and judgement, heaven and hell-- <br />These alone, so often heard, <br />No more move us than the bell <br />When some stranger is interred. <br /> <br />Oh then, ere the turf or tomb <br />Cover us from every eye, <br />Spirit of instruction! come, <br />Make us learn that we must die.<br /><br />William Cowper<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/stanzas-subjoined-to-the-yearly-bill-of-mortality-of-the-parish-of-all-saints-northampton-anno-domini-1790/
