To
the
Same
.
TO
him
who
in
an
hour
must
die
,
Not
swifter
seems
that
hour
to
fly
,
Than
slow
the
minutes
seem
to
me
,
Which
keep
me
from
the
sight
of
thee
.
Not
more
that
trembling
wretch
would
give
Another
day
or
year
to
live
;
Than
I
to
shorten
what
remains
Of
that
long
hour
which
thee
detains
.
Oh
!
come
to
my
impatient
arms
,
Oh
!
come
with
all
thy
heav'nly
charms
,
At
once
to
justify
and
pay
The
pain
I
feel
from
this
delay
.