Young Death

Lying adying —
Such sweet things untasted,
Such rare beauties wasted:
Her hair a hidden treasure,
Her voice a lost pleasure;
Her soul made void of passion;
Her body going to nothing
Though long it took to fashion,
Soon to be a loathing:
Her road hath no turning,
Her light is burning burning
With last feeble flashes;
Dying from the birth:
Dust to dust, earth to earth,
Ashes to ashes.

Lying adying —
Have done with vain sighing:
Life not lost but treasured,
God Almighty pleasured,
God's daughter fetched and carried,
Christ's bride betrothed and married.
Lo, in the Room, the Upper,
She shall sit down to supper,
New bathed from head to feet
And on Christ gazing;
Her mouth kept clean and sweet
Shall laugh and sing, God praising:
Then shall be no more weeping,
Or fear, or sorrow,
Or waking more, or sleeping,
Or night, or morrow,
Or cadence in the song
Of songs, or thirst, or hunger;
The strong shall rise more strong
And the young younger.
Our tender little dove
Meek-eyed and simple,
Our love goes home to Love;
There shall she walk in white
Where God shall be the Light
And God the Temple.
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