1 When life as opening buds is sweet,
2 And golden hopes the fancy greet,
3 And Youth prepares his joys to meet,--
4 Alas! how hard it is to die!
5 When just is seized some valued prize,
6 And duties press, and tender ties
7 Forbid the soul from earth to rise,--
8 How awful then it is to die!
9 When, one by one, those ties are torn,
10 And friend from friend is snatched forlorn,
11 And man is left alone to mourn,--
12 Ah then, how easy 'tis to die!
13 When faith is firm, and conscience clear,
14 And words of peace the spirit cheer,
15 And visioned glories half appear,--
16 'Tis joy, 'tis triumph then to die.
17 When trembling limbs refuse their weight,
18 And films, slow gathering, dim the sight,
19 And clouds obscure the mental light,--
20 'Tis nature's precious boon to die.
Anna Lætitia Barbauld
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