Sure of Thy grace, for sins why need I fear?
How can the pilgrim faint whilst Thou art near?
On the last day Thy grace will wash me white,
And make my «black record» to disappear.
318. C. L. N. A. I. J. Lumsden, ii, 72. See Koran, xiii. 47.
Think not I dread from out the world to hie,
And see my disembodied spirit fly;
I tremble not at death, for death is true,
'Tis my ill life that makes me fear to die!
319. C. L. N. A. I. J. «Death is true,» i.e. a certainty. So Sir Philip Sidney (after M. Aurelius), «Since Nature's works be good, and death doth serve as Nature's work, why should we fear to die?»
Let us shake off dull reason's incubus,
Our tale of days or years cease to discuss,
And take our jugs, and plenish them with wine,
Or e'er grim potters make their jugs of us!