Chapter 144
There is no death! the stars go down To rise upon some fairer sh.o.r.e, And bright in heaven's jeweled crown They s.h.i.+ne forever more.
There is no death! the dust we tread Shall change, beneath the summer showers, To golden grain, or mellow fruit, Or rainbow-tinted flowers.
There is no death! the leaves may fall, The flowers may fade and pa.s.s away-- They only wait, through wintry hours, The warm sweet breath of May.
There is no death! the choicest gifts That Heaven hath kindly lent to earth Are ever first to seek again The country of their birth;
And all things that, for grief or joy, Are worthy of thy love and care, Whose loss has left us desolate, Are safely garnered there.
They are not dead! they have but pa.s.sed Beyond the mists that blind us here, Into the new and larger life Of that serener sphere.
They have but dropped their robe of clay To put their s.h.i.+ning raiment on; They have not wandered far away-- They are not "lost" or "gone."
Though disenthralled and glorified, They still are here and love us yet; The dear ones they have left behind They never can forget.
--J. C. McCreery.
PROSPICE (LOOK FORWARD)
Fear death?--to feel the fog in my throat, The mist in my face; When the snows begin, and the blasts denote I am nearing the place, The power of the night, the press of the storm, The post of the foe; Where he stands, the Arch Fear in a visible form?
Yet the strong man must go; For the journey is done and the summit attained, And the barriers fall-- Though a battle's to fight ere the guerdon be gained, The reward of it all.
I was ever a fighter, so--one fight more, The best and the last!
I would hate that death bandaged my eyes, and forbore, And bade me creep past.
No! let me taste the whole of it, fare like my peers, The heroes of old, Bear the brunt, in a minute pay glad life's arrears Of pain, darkness, and cold.
For sudden the worst turns the best to the brave, The black minute's at end, And the elements' rage, the fiend voices that rave, Shall dwindle, shall blend, Shall change: shall become first a peace out of pain, Then a light, then thy breast, O thou soul of my soul! I shall clasp thee again, And with G.o.d be the rest!
--Robert Browning.
OUR HOME ABOVE
We thank thee, gracious Father, For many a pleasant
Of blessing and of mercy Our life has had its share; This world is not a wilderness, Thou hast made all things fair.
But fairer still, and sweeter, The things that are above; We look and long to join the song In the land of light and love.
We trust the Word which tells us Of that divine abode; By faith we bring its glories nigh, While hope illumes the road.
So death has lost its terrors; How can we fear it now?
Its face, once grim, now leads to him At whose command we bow.
His presence makes us happy, His service is delight, The many mansions gleam and glow, The saints our souls invite.
We welcome that departure Which brings us to our Lord; We hail with joy the blest employ Those wondrous realms afford.
We call it home up yonder; Down here we toil and strain As in some mine's dark, danksome depths; There suns.h.i.+ne bright we gain.
To G.o.d, then, sound the timbrel!
There's naught can do us harm; Our greatest foe has been laid low; What else can cause alarm?
For freedom and for victory Our hearts give loud acclaim; Whate'er befall, on him we call; North, South, East, West, in him we rest; All glory to his name!
--James Mudge.
AT LAST
When on my day of life the night is falling, And, in the winds from unsunned s.p.a.ces blown, I hear far voices out of darkness calling My feet to paths unknown;
Thou who hast made my home of life so pleasant, Leave not its tenant when its walls decay; O Love Divine, O Helper ever present, Be thou my strength and stay!
Be near me when all else is from me drifting: Earth, sky, home's pictures, days of shade and s.h.i.+ne, And kindly faces to my own uplifting The love which answers mine.
I have but Thee, my Father! let thy spirit Be with me then to comfort and uphold; No gate of pearl, no branch of palm I merit, Nor street of s.h.i.+ning gold.
Suffice it if--my good and ill unreckoned, And both forgiven through thy abounding grace-- I find myself by hands familiar beckoned Unto my fitting place.
Some humble door among thy many mansions, Some sheltering shade where sin and striving cease, And flows forever through heaven's green expansions The river of thy peace.
There, from the music round about me stealing, I fain would learn the new and holy song, And find at last, beneath thy trees of healing, The life for which I long.
--John Greenleaf Whittier.
READY
I would be ready, Lord, My house in order set, None of the work thou gavest me To do unfinished yet.
I would be watching, Lord, With lamp well trimmed and clear, Quick to throw open wide the door, What time thou drawest near.
I would be waiting, Lord, Because I cannot know If in the night or morning watch I may be called to go.
I would be waking, Lord, Each day, each hour for thee; a.s.sured that thus I wait thee well, Whene'er thy coming be.
I would be living, Lord, As ever in thine eye; For whoso lives the nearest thee The fittest is to die.
--Margaret J. Preston.
THALa.s.sA! THALa.s.sA!
I stand upon the summit of my life, Behind, the camp, the court, the field, the grove, The battle and the burden; vast, afar Beyond these weary ways, behold the Sea!
The sea, o'erswept by clouds and winds and waves; By thoughts and wishes manifold; whose breath Is freshness and whose mighty pulse is peace.
Palter no question of the horizon dim-- Cut loose the bark! Such voyage, it is rest; Majestic motion, unimpeded scope, A widening heaven, a current without care, Eternity! Deliverance, promise, course, Time-tired souls salute thee from the sh.o.r.e.
--Brownlee Brown.
AT END