And am I born to die?
To lay this body down?
And must my trembling spirit fly
Into a world unknown?
A land of deepest shade,
unpierced by human thought,
The dreary regions of the dead,
Where all things are forgot?

Soon as from earth I go,
What will become of me?
Eternal happiness or woe
Must then my portion be:
Waked by the trumpet’s sound,
I from my grave shall rise,
And see the Judge, with glory crowned,
And see the flaming skies! 

– Charles Wesley (1707–1788)