_Death._ O King, why useless words thus waste? Prepare to go, and make thee haste, Nor seek me idly to detain; Still many thousand men must I To-day invite to join my train. _King._ Oh, hurry not— _Angel._ The King did say— _King._ But grant me yet another day. To make my will still let me bide; My silver, gold, and jewels rare, I fain would righteously divide. _Angel._ But Death then spoke. _Death._ It cannot be; Conform must thou to my decree. Prepare to start without reprieve; Thy silver, gold, and jewels rare, Must be content behind to leave. _King._ Then is it all in vain I pray? _Death._ Lament and prayer all useless be. _King._ Shall I not see another day? _Death._ Not one. To judgment come with me. _King._ Oh, grant me but one little hour! _Death._ To grant aught is not in my power. _King._ Have patience but three words to hear. _Death._ Patience ’s an herb[62] which grows not here. _Angel._ The King upon his couch down sinks: His haughty form all helpless shrinks; To ashy white has turned his lip. Both rich and poor the strangler thus With iron hand alike doth grip. Thus stealthy Death will oft appear, When no one deems that he is near, With deadly aim to shoot his dart. So live in God, his laws observe, That mayst in peace depart. [_The KING sinks down lifeless, and DEATH disappears. The soldiers raise up the dead body and lay it on a bier, singing_— _Soldiers._ Why value crown or power, Since neither can we own But for a passing hour? No sceptre and no throne Grim Death away can scare, Nor gold nor jewels rare. _Angel_ [_reappearing_]. By Providence as herald sent, Touched by the sound of dire lament; The monarch to his land restore Will I, in pity for your grief. King, for thy kingdom live once more. [_The ANGEL touches the KING’S breast, who, waking apparently from a deep slumber, sits up and sings_— _King._ How is’t I feel? and can it be That once again the earth I see? What miracle of grace! Who art thou, Lord? I knew thee not; Deign to reveal thy face. _Angel._ The Lord who sent me to this land, He is a Lord of mighty hand. He gives, he taketh life, As thou hast seen, O King, this day; To do his will must strive alway. [_The KING, now standing up, takes the crown from his head, and accompanied by the chorus, sings_— _King._ Lord of the world, the crown is thine, Who rulest us with power divine. Oh, what is man! He is but dust, And fall a prey to death he must. Let none be proud of lofty rank, For ’tis indeed but idle prank. Guide thou us, Lord, upon our way; Our souls receive in grace some day.