O what terror in thy forethought

O what terror in thy forethought,
Ending scene of mortal life!
Heart is sickened, reins are loosened,
Thrills each nerve, with terror rife,
When the anxious heart depicteth
All the anguish of the strife!

Who the spectacle can image,—
How tremendous!—of that day
When the course of life accomplished,
From the trammels of her clay
Writhes the soul to be delivered,
Agonised to pass away!

Sense hath perished, tongue is rigid,
Eyes are filming o'er in death,
Palpitates the breast, and hoarsely
Gasps the rattling throat for breath:
Limbs are torpid, lips are pallid,
Breaking nature quivereth.

All come round him!—cogitation,
Habit, word, and deed are there!
All, though much, and sore he struggle,
Hover o'er him in the air:
Turn he this way, turn he that way,
On his inmost soul they glare.

Conscience self her culprit tortures,
Gnawing him with pangs unknown:
For that now amendment's season
Is for ever past and gone,
And that late repentance findeth
Pardon none for all its moan.

Fleshly lusts of fancied sweetness
Are converted into gall,
When on brief and bitter pleasure
Everlasting dolours fall:
Then, what late appeared so mighty,
Oh! how infinitely small!

Christ, unconquered King of Glory!
Thou my wretched soul relieve
In that most extremest terror
When the body she must leave:
Let the accuser of the brethren
O'er me then no power receive!

Let the Prince of darkness vanish
And Gehenna's legions fly!
Shepherd, Thou Thy sheep, thus ransomed
To Thy country lead on high;
Where for ever in fruition
I may see Thee eye to eye!