Frail Life! In Which, Through Mists Of Human Breath
Frail Life! in which, through mists of human breath
We grope for truth, and make our progress slow,
Because by passion blinded; till by death
Our passions ending, we begin to know.
O reverend Death! whose looks can soon advise
E'en scornful youth, which priests their doctrine waste;
Yet mock us too; for he does make us wise,
When by his coming our affairs are past.
O harmless Death! whom still the valiant brave,