Poem by John Dyer

Paraphrase of Part of Chapter 7 of Ecclesiastes

Now thy Creator, in the prime of youth,
Remember; ere those evil days approach
When every withering nerve must cease to feel
The touch of worldly pleasures: while the sun
And moon, and spangled stars, on the high vault
Of heaven, thou canst behold, that teach thy mind
Worship and praise: ere yet the shadows fall
Of life's dank evening; ere thy mortal frame
Around thee shrink, and trembling hands and knees
Fail to sustain thee; when the lightest thing,
The nimble grasshopper, a burden drops
Upon thy bending shoulders; and thick gloom
O'erspread thy windows; when the grinders cease
Their preparations for the chemic work
Of balmy nutriment, and the sweet notes,
With which the daughters of harmonious sound
Play on thy slackened ears, are faintly heard;
Ill hour of penitence. Now, in thy prime,
Or ever broken be the golden bowl,
Or loosed the silver cord, or e'er the wheel
Breaks at his source, which rolls the vital stream —
Remember thy Creator; that thy soul,
When earth to earth, when dust to dust returns,
May reascend to heaven, and, at His throne,
Receive the fulness of immortal joy.

1. To Aaron Hill, Esq.
2. An Epistle to a Famous Painter
3. An Epistle to a Friend in Town
4. To Aurelia
5. Bedford Level

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