Classic Poem

Swift flies our yeares as doth a running streame,
And lothed Age comes stealing on apace:
Our youth doth passe away as twere a Dreame,
And Death doth follow for to take his place:
 Death comes, and our Lifes patent to his hand
 For to resigne, he straight doth us command.

Strength to his course, and winde unto his flight,
With feathers to his wings, Time joyneth fast:
And this sweet life which we so much do like,
Though nere so loth, yet must away at last.
 The fairest Flower must wither with the weede,
 What so doth live, to die was first decreede.

Thrise happie man and trebble blest is he,
That never treads his steps from rightest way,
Nor with the mist of World will blinded be:
But keepes right path, and never goes astray:
 Contemning all these mundaine Treasures base,
 In hope to joy the heavenly Wealth of Grace .

Who dyeth ill, dyes; who dieth well, never dies,
But lives a life above Eternallie:
Like good Elius , who in wondrous wise,
Was from base Earth tooke up to live in skie:
 Where bide Th'elect of Christ for ever blest,
 In Abrahams bosome there for aye to rest.