Time destroyed Is suicide, where more than blood is spilt.
Virtue alone has majesty in death.
Too low they build who build below the skies.
We see time's furrows on another's brow, And death intrench'd, preparing his assault; How few themselves in that just mirror see!
Take God from nature, nothing great is left.
Where, where for shelter shall the guilty fly, When consternation turns the good man pale?