'Tis the last point of many ling-ring years;
But whither then we go,
Whither, we fain would know;
But human understanding cannot show.
This makes US tremble----

Mr. Pomfret, therefore, proceeded I, had such apprehensions of this dark
state as you have: and the excellent divine I hinted at last night, who
had very little else but human frailties to reproach himself with, and
whose miscellanies fell into my hands among my uncle's books in my
attendance upon him in his last hours, says,

It must be done, my soul: but 'tis a strange,
A dismal, and mysterious change,
When thou shalt leave this tenement of clay,
And to an unknown--somewhere--wing away;
When time shall be eternity, and thou
Shalt be--thou know'st not what--and live--
thou know'st not how!
Amazing state! no wonder that we dread
To think of death, or view the dead;
Thou'rt all wrapt up in clouds, as if to thee
Our very knowledge had antipathy.

Then follows, what I repeated,

Death could not a more sad retinue find,
Sickness and pain before, and darkness all behind.

Alas! my dear Belford [inferred the unhappy deep-thinker] what poor