BAXTER'S POEMS. And though the gate be strait, It leads unto that height Where I shall defy thy dart: Willingly I yield, As armed by that shield That will save my nobler part : Death. Come away, frail man, And open now thy breast, And take thy mortal wound: Let friends do what they can, And physic do its best, ·They'll all too weak be found .., Lay now aside thy mirth, And turn unto thy earth: I will give thee the fatal blow: It is in vain to wish ; Thou canst not save thy flesh : For my power thou shalt know. Believer. Readily I come, As being not the first~ That bath pass'd through thy door . 'fhou shalt but help me home, When thou hast done thy worst ; And thou shalt be no more: By drawing out my blood, Thou sh-alt but do me good, And ease me of my grief: And though thou look so ·grim, Thou shalt bring me to him, That will give me full relief·.. I 109
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