The Death-watch

A! how distinct it beats! — in vain
It beats to me, nor brings one anxious pain.
Thou gloomy insect, oft inspiring fear,
Dreadful to superstition's list'ning ear;
How many start to hear thy fancy'd knell,
Dismal and solemn as a passing bell!

And why must harmless insects be accus'd,
When daily, hourly warnings are refus'd?
Each day, each hour, accosts my ear, or eye,
Some monitor, which bids prepare to die.

See yonder stalk! there lately grew a flow'r,
'Tis gone, its glowing colours are no more.
That bush, where roses smil'd, and breath'd perfume!
How sweet their fragrance, and how gay their bloom!
A few days since they bloom'd, now dropt and lost:
Frail mortal life, behold how vain thy boast!
Hark, near my side, the clock, with solemn sound,
Tells me how life pursues his constant round!
Life on the wings of time flies swift away;
My last will come, and this may be the day.
Each pain I feel, and every plaintive sigh,
What does it speak? this truth — "I soon must die/
Must die! Is this a melancholy sound,
When endless life begins its blissful round?
Thy poison'd arrow, Death, wounds not the heart,
Which in the Saviour's blood can claim a part.
May this blest hope (dear solace of my soul!)
With heav'nly comfort all my fears control.
While faith points upward to the blest abode
Of life immortal, and my Saviour God,
May that bright world its radiant dawn impart,
And be each hour, a Death-watch to my heart.