A Thought on Death 

When life as opening buds is sweet, 
And golden hopes the fancy greet, 
And Youth prepares his joys to meet,-- 
Alas! how hard it is to die! 

When just is seized some valued prize, 
And duties press, and tender ties 
Forbid the soul from earth to rise,-- 
How awful then it is to die! 

When, one by one, those ties are torn, 
And friend from friend is snatched forlorn, 
And man is left alone to mourn,-- 
Ah then, how easy 'tis to die! 

When faith is firm, and conscience clear, 
And words of peace the spirit cheer, 
And visioned glories half appear,-- 
'Tis joy, 'tis triumph then to die. 

When trembling limbs refuse their weight, 
And films, slow gathering, dim the sight, 
And clouds obscure the mental light,-- 
'Tis nature's precious boon to die.