138 BAXTER'S POEMS. Money and friends now answer not his moans, For all his wealth, he trembles, faints, and dies. The greatest lord and prince must novv submit, Crowns, titles, money, will not ease his pain ; Forced repentance seems to have some wit, Preachers may speak now without proud disdain. He calls for mercy, he forgiveth all; Instead of fire and swoid he speaks of peace;' His wit revives as flesh and strength do fall, Not from a holy change but for his ease. Now he talks how he'd live; whenlife's near gone, He seemeth wise, and promiseth to mend: He thinks what time is for, when time is done, Begins to think of living at his end. Might he be sav'd now for a frighten'd wish, When guilt and terror cause his heart to faint, When worldly pleasures all forsake his flesh, He'd have the end and portion of a saint. Now takes an inventory of his wealth,- This corpse was once the body of a man It liv'd in pleasure, honour, ease, and health, Goes naked hence, as naked life began. That frightful earthly face was wont to smile, And with proud scorn on hated pe1:sons frown, It comely seem'd, which now is black and vile, That it's the same, can hardly now be known. Those Closed eyes, the casements were of lust, There enter'd worldly vanity and sin, . fhat mouth, those lips, that now must rot -to dust, .Have taken many a' pleasant morsel in.
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