Before the poem, a lesson in how to die, from Powell and Pressburger's A Matter of Life and Death:
Sir Walter Raleigh. 1552–1618
|77. His Pilgrimage
|GIVE me my scallop-shell of quiet,
|My staff of faith to walk upon,
|My scrip of joy, immortal diet,
|My bottle of salvation,
|My gown of glory, hope's true gage;
|And thus I'll take my pilgrimage.
|Blood must be my body's balmer;
|No other balm will there be given:
|Whilst my soul, like quiet palmer,
|Travelleth towards the land of heaven;
|Over the silver mountains,
|Where spring the nectar fountains;
|There will I kiss
|The bowl of bliss;
|And drink mine everlasting fill
|Upon every milken hill.
|My soul will be a-dry before;
|But, after, it will thirst no more.