has always a confident belief in final absolution:--"I pray to you to
hear me, O Son of God; as you created the moon, the sun, the stars, it
is no task or trouble for you to ready me."

There are some fine verses in a poem made at the time of an outbreak of
cholera:--

'Look at him who was yesterday swift and strong, who would leap
stone wall, ditch and gap, who was in the evening walking the
street, and is going under the clay on the morrow.

'Death is quicker than the wave of drowning or than any horse,
however fast, on the racecourse. He would strike a goal against the
crowd; and no sooner is he there than he is on guard before us.

'He is changing, hindering, rushing, starting, unloosed; the day is
no better to him than the night; when a person thinks there is no
fear of him, there he is on the spot laid low with keening.

'Death is a robber who heaps together kings, high princes, and
country lords; he brings with him the great, the young, and the
wise, gripping them by the throat before all the people.

'It is a pity for him who is tempted with the temptations of the
world; and the store that will go with him is so weak, and his
lease of life no better if he were to live for a thousand years,
than just as if he had slipped over on a visit and back again.

'When you are going to lie down, don't be dumb. Bare your knee and
bruise the ground. Think of all the deeds that you put by you, and