As I lay dying in my bed
A demon raised his ugly head
And smirked: ‘Before you seek the dead,
My chief demands a prayer.

I shrank a moment in despair,
And then replied: ‘And who should care?
My sins are all my own affair...
Your master is misled.’

‘Not so!’ the demon cried aloud,
‘Though sins on earth wind like a shroud
About each soul, yet one so proud
As yours breaks at the last.’

‘Our life is straw, the world is vast,
Time’s breath a stream that knows no past,
Death’s flag a rag to fly half-mast,
So I shall die uncowed.’

At that, he tore his mask away
And stood revealed: ‘Then shall you pray
With me?’ But I had nought to say:
‘I know no prayer,’ I said.

‘I doubt it not, nor tears to shed,’
The angel sniffed — ‘rise from your bed.’
I rose to find my fever fled,
The room as bare as day.