The Old Man

My Breath is corrupt, my Days are extinct, the Graves are ready for me.

Job xvii. 1.

Exhausted Strength my feeble Nerves
No longer now does brace,
And, like a River’s rapid Stream,
My Life flows out apace.

The Time, which no One can recall,
How swift a Flight has ta’en!
And nothing but the silent Tomb
For me does now remain.

Tir’d of the Ills of a long Life,
And sick of all its Cares,
For speedy Death I now address
To Heav’n my anxious Pray’rs.