Along the dark and silent night,
With my lantern and my light,
And the tinkling of my bell,
Thus I walk, and this I tell:
Death and dreadfulness call on
To the gen’ral session,
To whose dismal bar we there
All accounts must come to clear.
Scores of sins w’ave made here many,
Wip’d out few, God knows, if any.
Rise, ye debtors, then, and fall
To make payment while I call.
Ponder this, when I am gone;
By the clock ’tis almost one.
Any corrections or public domain poems I should have here? Email me at poems (at) this domain.