A Poem For Sunday

by Patrick Appel

Church Monuments by George Herbert

While that my soul repairs to her devotion,
Here I entomb my flesh, that it betimes
May take acquaintance of this heap of dust,
To which the blast of Death's incessant motion,
Fed with the exhalation of our crimes,
Drives all at last.

Continued here, amidst with some excellent linguistic analysis by Robert Pinsky.