Why should we start, and fear to die? What tim'rous worms we mortals are! Death is the gate of endless joy, And yet we dread to enter there. The pains, the groans, the dying strife, Fright our approaching souls away; Still we shrink back again to life, Fond of our prison and our clay. O, if my Lord would come and meet, My soul should stretch her wings in haste, Fly, fearless through death's iron gate, Nor feel the terrors as she passed.