And some do fear may a fore-runner be
Of an approaching sad mortality:
But why should we to such belief incline?
There’s none that knows but the blest Pow’r divine
And whatsoe’re is from Jehovah sent,
Poor sinners ought therewith to be content;
If dreadfull, then to fall upon the knee,
And beg remission of the Deity;
But if beyond our thoughts he sends us store,
With all our hearts let’s thankful be therefore.