A Play On Shakespeares Rhyme Poem by Granville Holt

Poor fools, the maker of thy mortal earth
Loves you, yet doubters doubt his holy way,
Why wilt thou sin and suffer sinful dearth,
Pining for escape on some rapture day,
At such a cost, your life on a short lease,
Why not upon thy fading mansion spend
God's grace and with His blessings never cease
To seek immortality without end?
Then soul, you must repent or all is lost,
And the Holy scripture within you store.
By crucifixion Christ has paid your cost,
Within be glad, you shall live evermore.

Rejoice, Christ defeated death for all men,
Once death ends, there's no more dying then!