IN ARTICULO MORTIS

Dread thought, whereat I shudder and I tremble,

That moment, hated moment, needs must come

Within a lifetime's instant—to dissemble

Cannot be done. The distant thundering drum



Is not so distant after all. More sound

And more, and quicker, threat'ning as an axe

To sever me from me. I look around

At all that I have known; think of the tracks



Trod by my wayward spirit. I can no more;

What is this? I am dying, must be gone,

God knoweth where. Reality is sore:

What am I when it snaps? Let me live on!



No, I must die; temptations fierce assail;

God help me! Am I ready? Michael, Mary,

Saints, pray for me! I languish, now I fail;

Have mercy on me, Lord; can I be wary



In this my evil hour? I am, I fade.

The Fury's shears! No more! avaunt! avaunt!

Ah, terror!—Mercy! I to calm am sway'd;

But sure a dreadful spectre comes to daunt.



I now approach the End; some seconds more:

Christ, Mary, cling, I love You, be my shields;

One only thing of You I do implore:

Let me awaken in Elysian fields.



(14th October, 2010.)