In the days running up to Christmas, some chest pains brought Gerald Finzi’s remarkable setting of Shakespearean passages to mind, particularly, “Feare no more the heat of the Sun,”
Feare no more the heate o’ th’ Sun,
Nor the furious Winters rages,
Thou thy worldly task hast don,
Home art gon, and tane thy wages.
Golden Lads, and Girles all must,
As Chimney-Sweepers come to dust.
Ah, when I sang this for my senior recital as a lad, I knew the meaning of the words in a shallow ay, but a few decades later, they ring with a calm assurance they did not have… when I had the voice to sing them properly. *heh*
So think, then: what do your tomorrows promise? Today’s as good a time as any to think that through.
Must have been gas; that’s what guys are supposed to say if they don’t know what’s causing them chest pains.
If you’re working to improve those areas of your life which would make you a better person in the eyes of the Lord then death is not to be feared since it will only be a doorway to a better place.
Oh, that’s largely the point of the Shakespearean sonnet, TF, and I remind myself daily of that by my “Have a nice trip (because life’s not a dead end)” rejoinder to folks’ “Have a nice day” remarks.
But having an occasional wakeup call is helpful in focusing ones attention, I guess.