Classic Poem

Forgetting God
To love a king
Hath been my rod
Or else nothing,

In this frail life,
Being a blast
Of care and strife
Till it be past.

Yet God did call
Me in my pride,
Lest I should fall
And from Him slide.

For whom loves He
And not correct,
That they may be
Of His elect?

Then, Death, haste thee.
Thou shalt me gain
Immortally
With Him to reign;

Who send the king
Like years as Noye
In governing
His realm in joy;

And after this
Frail life, such grace
As in His bliss
I may have place.