There lies a land beyond the wave
Of time’s tempestuous flood;
Our dreary bank must be the grave,
And Death our pilot good,
If we would reach that wish’d-for land,
And mingle with its happy band.
No Envy there, a bloodhound grim,
Pursues us on our way;
The eye of Avarice is dim;
There Rapine does not prey.
We leave, in that blessed pilgrimage,
Age, and the woes that wait on age.
Then let me bid this world farewell,
And hearts I loved the best;
For who on earth would wish to dwell
When Heaven offers rest?
The gospel shall my compass be;
Now, Death, I dare put forth with thee.
(Peter John Allan)
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Based on Topics: Time Poems, Death & Dying Poems, Christianity Poems, Age Poems, Greed PoemsBased on Keywords: bloodhound