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George Herbert - Death
Work rating: Low

Death, thou wast once an uncouth hideous thing,
               Nothing but bones,
       The sad effect of sadder grones:
Thy mouth was open, but thou couldst not sing.

For we consider`d thee as at some six
               Or ten yeares hence
       After the losse of life and sense,
Flesh being turn`d to dust, and bones to sticks. 

We lookt on this side of thee, shooting short;
               Where we did finde
       The shells of fledge souls left behinde,
Dry dust, which sheds no tears, but may extort.

But since our Saviour`s death did put some bloud
               Into thy face;
       Thou art grown fair and full of grace,
Much in request, much sought for, as a good. 

For we do now behold thee gay and glad,
               As at dooms-day;
       When souls shall wear their new aray,
And all thy bones with beautie shall be clad.

Therefore we can go die as sleep, and trust
               Half that we have
          Unto an honest faithfull grave;
Making our pillows either down, or dust.
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