| Take them o'death | |
| And bear away | |
| Whatever thou canst | |
| Call thine own | |
| Thine imagine stamped | |
| Upon this clay | |
| Doth give thee that | |
| But that alone | |
| Take tem o'great eternity | |
| Our little life is but a gust | |
| That bends the brenches of thy tree | |
| And trails it's blossoms in the dust | |
| Take them o'grave and let them lie | |
| Folden upon thy narrow shelves | |
| As garments by the soul laid by | |
| And precious only to ourselves |
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