No ill's in it; God doth extend,
His loving hand and call thee
From all the thousand forms of woe
That in this vale of tears below,
Thou ever hast endurèd.
'Tis true, 'tis call'd death's agony,
But yet it is no dying;
The death of death is Christ, for He
Prevents it from destroying,
That though it puts forth all its pow'r,