Death, to the Dead for Evermore
DEATH, to the dead for evermoreA King, a God, the last, the best of friends -Whene'er this mortal journey endsDeath, like a host, comes smiling to the door;Smiling, he greets us, on that tranquil shoreWhere neither piping bird nor peeping dawnDisturbs the eternal sleep,But in the stillness far withdrawnOur dreamless rest for evermore we keep.
For as from open windows forth we peepUpon the night-time star besetAnd with dews for ever wet;So from this garish life the spirit peers;And lo! as a sleeping city death outspread,Where breathe the sleepers evenly; and lo!After the loud wars, triumphs, trumpets, tearsAnd clamour of man's passion, Death appears,And we must rise and go.
Soon are eyes tired with sunshine; soon the earsWeary of utterance, seeing all is said;Soon, racked by hopes and fears,The all-pondering, all-contriving head,Weary with all things, wearies of the years;And our sad spirits turn toward the dead;And the tired child, the body, longs for bed.
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