Posthumous man, who quitt’st thy narrow bed,
And standest undecayed within our presence,
Thou wilt hear nothing till the Judgment-morning,
When the great Trump shall thrill thee with its warning!
Why should this worthless tegument endure,
If its undying guests be lost for ever?
Oh, let us keep the soul embalmed and pure
In living virtue; that, when both must sever,
Although corruption may our frame consume,
Th’ immortal spirit in the skies may bloom!