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1My soul, why art thou full of trouble
2And overwhelmed with grief?
3Dost thou not know this world’s a bubble
4And cannot yield relief?
5This life’s a dream of mirth or sorrow
6Envelopéd in night;
7The
Resurrection’s1
like the morrow,8As full of life as light.
9Then slight these
terrene2
hopes, as toys3
;10Think thou of better things.
11From all
her4
pleasures and her joys,12Nought but repentance springs.
13Thy mortal nature ne’er deplore,
14Let Death work all her spite;
15For thou shalt live, when Death’s no more,
16In
everlasting light5
.17What, though thou into ashes turn,
18Thy dust will find a tomb
19Within some safe and silent urn
20In black Oblivion’s womb.
21Whether thou water dost increase,
22Or
fire, or air, or earth6
;23Yet am I sure to rest in peace;
24My soul
assumes7
her birth.25And if
Pythagoras8
saw clear,26Of this thou mayest resolve:
27Some lamb, or dove, then to appear,
28No toad shall thee
involve9
.29Then whether
dissolution10
,30Or transmigration,
31Or rolling revolution,
32All ends in thy salvation.
33Nothing shall then afflict my soul
34That passeth here below;
35For I above the highest
pole11
36Or star
ere12
long shall go.37Forget I shall, then, my
sad story13
;38And all my past annoys
39Shall swallowed be
of14
infinite glory40And
crowned15
with endless joys.