The females legacy containing, divine poems, on several choice subjects : commended to all godly women / written by Mrs. Amey Hayward ...

A Dialogue between Death, and a Soul which fears not Death; but desires to be dissolved, and to be with Christ.

Soul.

1

HArk! who is this that knocketh at my door? If it be Death, whom I have waited for: Then why dost thou not unto me draw near? For I of thee do not much stand in fear.

2

I fear thee not, thou canst do me no wrong, Thou wilt but send me from the Earth, along Unto my Home, where I desire to be: Come Death, and do thy Office unto me?

3

For I have longed for my Dissolution: Therefore draw near, and do the Execution: Compleat thy Work I pray thee, speedily, And do not keep me long in misery!

Death.

4

Come, weary Soul, which say'st thou dost not fear me, Is not my ghastly looks enough to scare thee,

Which makes all Flesh on Earth to shake and quiver When as I strike my dart into their Liver.

5

Hast thou got Faith enough to bear thee up? To taste of Death, it is a bitter Cup; Or hast thou some Vain hope to comfort thee? If so, then I the same shall quickly see.

6

My Sting, which is thy Sin original, Shall cut thee off when that on thee doth fall: Therefore be careful now, and stand thy ground, Or else my Sting may give a deadly wound.

Soul.

7

This cannot be, since Christ my glorious King Has said to thee, Oh Death! where is thy Sting? And to the Grave, where is thy Victory? Thy Sting, nor Grave, shall have no power on me.

8

I tell thee Death, when thou hast done thy worst, Thou canst but lay my Body in the Dust Until the glorious Resurrection-day, When Imperfection shall be done away.

9

My God and King this Body then will raise, And I shall Sing his Everlasting Praise: His Grace and Love will then extended be: But not for any good there is in me:

10

But for the Merit of his only Son, The mighty God this good for me hath done.

Death.

11

What, shall I strike the stroke, and go my way?

Soul.

Strike now with speed, and do not thou delay?

Spectator.

The Soul is Fled, the Body's turn'd to Dust, Until the Resurrection of the Just.