 | The poetical writings of the late Willis Gaylord Clark |  |
66
EUTHANASIA.
“What is man's history? Born—living—dying,
Leaving the still shore for the troubled wave;
'Mid clouds and storms, o'er broken shipwrecks flying,
And casting anchor in the silent grave.”
Leaving the still shore for the troubled wave;
'Mid clouds and storms, o'er broken shipwrecks flying,
And casting anchor in the silent grave.”
I.
Methinks, when on the languid eyeLife's varying scenes grow dim;
When evening-shadows veil the sky,
And Pleasure's syren hymn
Grows fainter on the tuneless ear,
Like echoes from another sphere,
Or dreams of seraphim—
It were not sad to cast away
This dull and cumbrous load of clay.
II.
It were not sad to feel the heartGrow passionless and cold;
To feel those longings to depart,
That cheered the saints of old;
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Which fires the Christian's dying eye,
And makes the curtain-fold
That falls upon his wasting breast,
The door that leads to endless rest.
III.
It were not lonely thus to lieOn that triumphant bed,
Till the pure spirit mounts on high,
By white-winged seraphs led;
Where glories earth may never know.
O'er “many mansions” lingering, glow,
In peerless lustre shed;
It were not lonely thus to soar,
Where sin and grief can sting no more.
IV.
And though the way to such a goalLies through the cloudy tomb,
If on the free, unfettered soul
There rest no stains of gloom;
How should its aspirations rise,
Far through the blue and fretted skies,
Up—to its final home;
Beyond the journeyings of the sun,
Where streams of living waters run!
| The poetical writings of the late Willis Gaylord Clark | |