A Dialogue Between Death and the Believer

A Rustic Song, set to a pleasant tare.

Death. Come with me, poor mortal,

Quickly come away.

My name is dreadful Death,
Through this narrow portal

Come without delay;

For here I’ll stop thy breath.
Presently my dart
Shall pierce thee to the heart,

And away thy life 1 ’11 have:
It is in vain to fly,
Or any friend to try:

For there’s none that can thee save.

Believer. Welcome, friendly Death;
What canst thou do to me,
That I have cause to fear?
Though thou shalt stop my breath,
Yet I in life shall be,
When thou shalt not be there,
And though the gate be strait,
It leads unto that height

Where I shall defy thy dart:
Willingly I yield,
As armed by that shield

That will save my nobler part:.

Death. Come away, frail man,

And open now thy breast,
And take thy mortal wound:
Let friends do what they can,

And physic do its best,
They’ll all too weak be found.
Lay now aside thy mirth,
And turn unto thy earth:

I will give thee the fatal blow:
It is in vain to wish;
Thou canst not save thy flesh:

For my power thou shalt know.

Believer. Readily I come,

As being not the first,

That hath pass’d through thy door „
Thou shalt but help me home,

When thou hast done thy worst;
And thou shalt be no more:
By drawing out my blood,
Thou sfralt but do me good,

And ease me of my grief:
And though thou look so grim,
Thou shalt bring me to him,

That will give me full relief*
Death, Thy flesh I’ll turn to clay,

And all thy bones to dust;
And leave thee in the grave.
Make no longer stay,

For come away thou must;
It is in vain to crave*.
Clothed from head to feet,
But with a winding-sheet,

My prisoner thou shalt be;
Bearing my loathsome mark,
Thou shalt lie in the dark,

And the face of no man see.

Believer, Thou shalt but dig the ground,

Where God his seed shall sow,
And raise it at the spring: -
And there I shall be found,

And Christ his own will know,
And unto glory bring:
When here I cease to live,
A better life he’ll give,

Which thou shalt not destroy:
And though this life thou spill,
My soul thou canst not kill,

Nor again with fears annoy.

When thou putt’st out these eyes,
I shall receive my sight:
My day will all be noon*.
Above the spangled skies,
Where never shall be night,
Nor need of sun or moon:

BAXTER’S POEMS. 1H

The grave also shall keep
My dust in quiet sleep,

Till the coming of my Lord:
That flesh shall shine with God,
That now is but a clod,

And must lie as a thing abhorr’d.

Death, Thy merry days are gone;

Thou shalt no longer stay:
Thy life shall end in pain:
Thy time and work is done,

And all thy sport and play;
And never shall come again.
Here take thy leave of health,
And of thy goods and wealth;

And of every pleasant friend $
Bid farewell to them all,
For here thy corse shall fall;

And the world to thee shall end.

Believer, Boast not, O conquer’d foe!

For thou couldst have no strength,
But what comes from my sin:
My Lord will overthrow

Thy power at the length;
And will thy prisoners win:
Thou couldst not keep my head,
When he lay in thy bed;

But he rose, and now doth reign;
He’ll take away thy sting,
And endless life will bring,

And with him shall I remain.

How oft have I undress’d me,

And laid my garments by,
And died till the next day
I do but go to rest me,

And shall rise speedily;
My Lord will not delay.
When thou hast broke this shell,
My soul with Christ shall dwell,

And with saints and angels bright.
This world is but the womb
From which my soul must come

Into the eternal light.

And what though death be painful?

The pain is quickly past!
My soul shall soon be freed:
My Lord shall make it gainful:

The gain shall ever last;
And joy shall grief succeed.
And though the place seem strange,
And nature fear a change;

Yet I with Christ shall be.
And when with him I dwell,
I know I shall be well,

And his glorious light shall see.

‘Thou shalt but kill my sin,
And crown my painful race,
And end my grief and fear -.
Thou shalt but let me in
To see the blessed face
Of mv Redeemer dear.

And is it any loss

To follow with my cross,

Till I attain the crown?
It’s he that truly dies,
That mercy doth despise,

And at last God will disown.

I knew that from my birth

I was a mortal man:
My frailty is confess’d.
I knew my flesh was earth;

My life was but a span.
And here is not my rest.
If thou canst say no more,
All this I knew before,

And yet thy threats defy.
Have I long sought in pain,
And would I not obtain,

Joyful eternity?

O feeble thing!

How canst thou conquer Christ,
And make his promise void?
First overcome my King,

And his command resist,

By whom thou art employ’d:
First win the world above,
And conquer endless love;

And then I ’11 be thy slave:
Kill an immortal soul,
And we will all condole,

And fear a darksome grave.

It’s Christ that doth thee send,
To bring about his end;

And him thou must obey:
He is my dearest friend,
And doth no harm intend

In calling me away.
And why should he fear ill,
Whom love itself doth kill?

And numb’reth with the blest?
Why should not Death fulfil
His good all-ruling will, —

My spring, my guide, my rest?

Hoc migraturus scripsi sub imagine Carmen.

Farewell, vain world I as thou hast been to me Dust and a shadow, such I leave to thee. The unseen life and substance I commit To him that ’s substance, life, light, love, to it. Some leaves and fruit are dropp’d for soil and seed; Heaven’s heirs to generate; to heal and feed: Them also thou wilt natter and molest, But shalt not keep from everlasting rest.

vel,

Munde dolose, vale: mihi vera palaestra fuisti: Perficitur curs us; certa corona manet.

Vita fugax cessat: praestant aeterna caducis: Mens superos visit: pulvere pulvis erit.

Excipe, Christe, tuum. tibi vixi- errata remitte;

Spe tibi commissum perfice, Christe, tuum. Tu mortis mors es: vitse tu vita perennis.

Gloria nostra tua est gloria, lumen, amor. Non loca, non ccetus, non hinc sperata videntur.

Optimus, omnividens, maximus ilia videt.

The English verses written on a fair marble over the grave where my Wife and her Mother are buried ‘, in the upper end of Christ’s church chancel (broken and lost by the fall of the church when burnt) were these:

Thus must thy flesh to silent dust descend, Thy mirth and worldly pleasure thus will end: Then happy, holy souls: but woe to those, Who Heav’n forgot, and earthly pleasures chose. Hear now this preaching grave: without delay, Believe, repent, and work while it is day.