No, it is not I, passing traveller,
This bejewelled body you see lying here
Dead, as it is, awaiting burial,
It is a piece of nature, that is all.
It is not I, this body that lies dead,
Nor was I ever such as here is laid;
What provokes tears and makes the passer sigh
Was mine indeed, but yet was never I.
It's true indeed that sixty years ago
God sent me in this flesh, so different now,
To govern and direct it as it grew,
Moved, and was seen by others as by you.
This body was a thing that I possessed,
Conducting it as seemed to me the best
In that condition to which I was called,
Whether well or ill he knows, the Father of all.
God is my judge and he will deal justly;
Leave it to him to pass judgment upon me.
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