The Vigil of Death
LET them bestow on every airth a limb,Then open all my veins, that I may swimTo thee, my Maker! in that crimson lake.Then place my parboiled head upon a stake—Scatter my ashes—strew them in the air:Lord! since thou know’st where all these atoms are,I’m hopeful thou’lt recover once my dust,And confident thou’lt raise me with the just.
RICHARD CRASHAW 1615(?)–1652