I beg you, to my life, Lord, put an end

I beg you, to my life, Lord, put an end,
before even worse I have time to do.
I groan in pain at my perversity,
and fear eternal death beyond this life.
Here only pain, and there pain without end
awaits me. Take me when I’m at my best;
it nothing serves to put that moment off.
The journey awaits; there is no time to rest.

I grieve that as I should I do not grieve,
knowing eternally I may be damned;
the pain I fear is not in nature found;
man cannot guess at it, nor much less feel.
This is some excuse, but, I think, a weak one,
if my fear far short of my peril falls;
I ask for Heaven, yet little prize it;
fear it is that fails me, no less than hope.