THE WHITE ISLAND, OR PLACE OF THE BLEST.
In this world, the Isle of Dreams,
While we sit by sorrow's streams,
Tears and terrors are our themes,
Reciting;
But when once from hence we fly,
More and more approaching nigh
Unto young eternity,
Uniting;
In that whiter island, where
Things are evermore sincere;
Candour here and lustre there,
Delighting:
There no monstrous fancies shall
Out of hell an horror call,
To create, or cause at all,
Affrighting.
There, in calm and cooling sleep
We our eyes shall never steep,
But eternal watch shall keep,
Attending
Pleasures such as shall pursue
Me immortalized and you;
And fresh joys, as never too
Have ending.
TO DEATH.
Thou bid'st me come away;
And I'll no longer stay
Than for to shed some tears
For faults of former years;
And to repent some crimes
Done in the present times;
And next, to take a bit
Of bread, and wine with it;
To don my robes of love,
Fit for the place above;
To gird my loins about
With charity throughout,
And so to travel hence
With feet of innocence:
These done, I'll only cry,
"God, mercy!" and so die.