Wesley Corpus

19. But there is at hand a greater trouble than all these. Thou art to die! Thou art to sink into dust; to return to the ground from which thou wast taken, to mix with common clay. Thy body is to go to the earth as it was, while thy spirit returns to God that gave it. And the time draws on: the years slide away with a swift though silent pace. Perhaps your day is far spent: the noon of life is past, and the evening shadows begin to rest upon you. You feel in yourself sure approaching decay. The springs of life wear away apace. Now what help is there in your riches Do they sweeten death Do they endear that solemn hour Quite the reverse. "O death, how bitter art thou to a man that liveth at rest in his possessions!" How unacceptable to him is that awful sentence, "This night shall thy soul be required of thee!" -- Or will they prevent the unwelcome stroke, or protract the dreadful hour Can they deliver your soul that it should not see death Can they restore the years that are past Can they add to your appointed time a month, a day, an hour, a moment -- Or will the good things you have chosen for your portion here follow you over the great gulf Not so. Naked came you into this world; naked must you return. Linquenda tellus, et domus, et placens Uxor; neque harum quas colis, arborum, Te, praeter invisam cupressos, Ulla brevem dominum sequetur! [The following is Boscawen's translation of these verses from Horace: Thy lands, thy dome, thy pleasing wife, These must thou quit; 'tis nature's doom. No tree, whose culture charms thy life, Save the sad cypress, waits thy tomb. -- Edit.] Surely, were not these truths too plain to be observed, because they are too plain to be denied, no man that is to die could possibly trust for help in uncertain riches.