* * *

Emily Dickinson (1830-1886):  "Because I could not stop for Death" (1863)

Because I could not stop for Death,
He kindly stopped for me;
The carriage held but just ourselves
And Immortality.
(CM)

* * *

William Blake (1757-1827): "London" (1794)

I wander thro' each charter'd street,
Near where the charter'd Thames does flow,
And mark in every face I meet
Marks of weakness, marks of woe.
(LM)

* * *

Emily Dickinson (1830-1886):  "Success is counted sweetest" (1859)

Success is counted sweetest
By those who ne�er succeed.
To comprehend a nectar
Requires sorest need.
(SM)

* * *

Thomas Hardy (1840-1928):  "I Look into My Glass" (1898)

I look into my glass,
And view my wasting skin,
And say, "Would God it came to pass
My heart had shrunk as thin!"
(SM with 3rd line variation)

* * *

Isaac Watts (1674-1748): "Man Frail and God Eternal" (1719), Psalms of David

O God, our help in ages past,
Our hope for years to come,
Our shelter from the stormy blast,
And our eternal home.

Under the shadow of thy throne
Thy saints have dwelt secure;
Sufficient is thine arm alone,
And our defence is sure.

Before the hills in order stood,
Or earth receiv�d her frame,
From everlasting thou art God,
To endless years the same.

Thy word commands our flesh to dust,
"Return, ye sons of men:"
All nations rose from earth at first,
And turn to earth again.

A thousand ages in thy sight
Are like an ev�ning gone;
Short as the watch that ends the night,
Before the rising sun.

The busy tribes of flesh and blood,
With all their lives and cares,
Are carry�d downwards by the flood,
And lost in following years.

Time, like an ever-rolling stream,
Bears all his sons away;
They fly, forgotten, as a dream
Dies at the op�ning day.

Like flow�ry fields the nations stand,
Pleas�d with the morning light:
The flow�rs beneath the mower�s hand
Lie with�ring ere �tis night.

Our God, our help in ages past,
Our hope for years to come,
Be thou our guard while troubles last,
And our eternal home.
(CM)

* * *

John Newton (1725-1807):  "Faith�s Review and Expectation"(1779), Olney Hymns

Amazing grace! (how sweet the sound!)
That sav�d a wretch like me!
I once was lost, but now am found;
Was blind, but now I see.

�Twas grace that taught my heart to fear,
And grace my fears reliev�d;
How precious did that grace appear,
The hour I first believ�d!

Thro� many dangers, toils, and snares,
I have already come;
�Tis grace has brought me safe thus far,
And grace will lead me home.

The Lord has promis�d good to me,
His word my hope secures;
He will my shield and portion be,
As long as life endures.

Yes, when this flesh and heart shall fail,
And mortal life shall cease;
I shall possess, within the veil,
A life of joy and peace.

This earth shall soon dissolve like snow,
The sun forbear to shine;
But God, who call�d me here below,
Will be for ever mine.
(CM)

* * *

William Cowper (1731-1800):  "Light Shining out of Darkness" (1779), Olney Hymns

God moves in a mysterious way
His wonders to perform;
He plants His footsteps in the sea,
And rides upon the storm.

Deep in unfathomable mines
Of never failing skill
He treasures up His bright designs,
And works His sovereign will.

Ye fearful saints, fresh courage take:
The clouds ye so much dread
Are big with mercy, and shall break
In blessings on your head.

Judge not the Lord by feeble sense,
But trust Him for His grace;
Behind a frowning providence
He hides a smiling face.

His purposes will ripen fast,
Unfolding ev�ry hour;
The bud may have a bitter taste,
But sweet will be the flow�r.

Blind unbelief is sure to err,
And scan His work in vain;
God is His own interpreter,
And He will make it plain.
(CM)

* * *

"On a Similar Occasion for the Year 1792"
[Cowper wrote these poems as an appendix to the Annual Bill of Mortality in his parish.]

Thankless for favours from on high,
Man thinks he fades too soon;
Though �tis his privilege to die,
Would he improve the boon.

But he, not wise enough to scan
His best concerns aright,
Would gladly stretch life�s little span
To ages, if he might.

To ages in a world of pain,
To ages, where he goes
Galled by affliction�s heavy chain,
And hopeless of repose.

Strange fondness of the human heart,
Enamoured of its harm!
Strange world, that costs it so much smart,
And still has power to charm.

Whence has the world her magic power?
Why deem we Death a foe?
Recoil from weary life�s best hour,
And covet longer woe?

The cause is Conscience;--Conscience oft
Her tale of guilt renews:
Her voice is terrible, though soft,
And dread of Death ensues.

Then, anxious to be longer spared,
Man mourns his fleeting breath:
And evils then seem light, compared
With the approach of Death.

�Tis judgment shakes him; there�s the fear
That prompts the wish to stay:
He has incurred a long arrear,
And must despair to pay.

Pay?--follow Christ, and all is paid:
His death your peace ensures;
Think on the grave where He was laid,
And calm descend to yours.
(CM)