When life as opening buds is sweet,And golden hopes the fancy greet,And Youth prepares his joys to meet,--Alas! how hard it is to die!
When just is seized some valued prize,And duties press, and tender tiesForbid the soul from earth to rise,--How awful then it is to die!
When, one by one, those ties are torn,And friend from friend is snatched forlorn,And man is left alone to mourn,--Ah then, how easy 'tis to die!
When faith is firm, and conscience clear,And words of peace the spirit cheer,And visioned glories half appear,--'Tis joy, 'tis triumph then to die.
When trembling limbs refuse their weight,And films, slow gathering, dim the sight,And clouds obscure the mental light,--'Tis nature's precious boon to die.
