Sonnet 11 (Miscellaneous Sonnets)

Think upon Death, 'tis good to think of Death,
But better far to think upon the Dead.
Death is a spectre with a bony head.
Or the mere mortal body without breath.
The state foredoom'd of every son of Seth,
Decomposition — dust, or dreamless sleep.
But the dear Dead are they for whom we weep,
For whom I credit all the Bible saith.
Dead is my father, dead is my good mother,
And what on earth have I to do but die ?
But if by grace I reach the blessed sky,
I fain would see the same, and not another ;
The very father that I used to see,
The mother that has nursed me on her knee.