time upon thee. Have mind of my doom, for such shall be thy doom.
O how blessed art thou, Arsenie, that ever had this hour of death before thine eyes! And so blessed is he, the which wot what time his Lord cometh and knocketh on the gate, and findeth him ready to let Him in. For by what manner of death he be overlaid, he shall be purged and brought to the sight of Almighty God; and, in the passing of his spirit, it shall be received into the blessed palace of everlasting bliss.
But woe is me, wretched! Where trowest thou shalt abide this night my spirit? Who shall receive my wretched soul, and where shall it be harboured at night in that unknown country? Oh how desolate thou shalt be, my soul, and abject, passing all other souls! Therefore, having compassion on myself among these bitter words, I shed out tears as the river. But what helpeth it to weep or to multiply many bitter words? It is concluded and may not be changed.
O my God, now I make an end of my words. I may no longer make sorrow, for lo, now is the hour come that will take me from the earth. Woe is me now! I see and know that I may no longer live, and that death is at next.[1] For lo, the hands unwieldy begin to rancle,[2] the face to pale, the sight to 'deceive, and the eyes to go in. The light of the world I shall no more see, and the estate of another world, before the eyes of my soul, in my mind, I
