 | Ballads and Other Poems |  |
363
DEATH.
The flower-strewn earth is wondrous fair,
But Death, the strong, is everywhere.
It matters not how bright, how still,
Is valley green, or cloud-capped hill,
Death, like a hard unpitying foe,
Is there to strike the certain blow.
Thus, yesterday, to-day, to-morrow,
Till time is done, shall be this sorrow.
Thus is it in all distant climes;
Thus was it in the ancient times.
The prophets are of former days;
All those whom we delight to praise;
The bard, whose soul was love and light;
The arm that combated for right;
The patriot-king; the wise, the brave;
All, all, are mouldering in the grave.
The gain was thine when rose on high
The Egyptian mothers' midnight cry;
When God's strong angel, with a blast
Which smote, among the Assyrians passed;
When the unnumbered Persians lay
On Salamis at break of day;
And when, 'mid revelry, came down
Darkness on the Italian town:
Then Death, thou hadst the victory.
But Death, the strong, is everywhere.
It matters not how bright, how still,
Is valley green, or cloud-capped hill,
Death, like a hard unpitying foe,
Is there to strike the certain blow.
Thus, yesterday, to-day, to-morrow,
Till time is done, shall be this sorrow.
Thus is it in all distant climes;
Thus was it in the ancient times.
The prophets are of former days;
All those whom we delight to praise;
The bard, whose soul was love and light;
The arm that combated for right;
The patriot-king; the wise, the brave;
All, all, are mouldering in the grave.
364
The Egyptian mothers' midnight cry;
When God's strong angel, with a blast
Which smote, among the Assyrians passed;
When the unnumbered Persians lay
On Salamis at break of day;
And when, 'mid revelry, came down
Darkness on the Italian town:
Then Death, thou hadst the victory.
Oh, Death! oh, spoiler, stern and strong!
The sea, the isles, to thee belong.
The hoary hills are all thine own,
With the grey cairn and cromlech-stone;
The groves of oak, the woods of pine,
The sunless ocean-caves are thine.
Thy ancient slumbers lie beneath
The untilled verdure of the heath;
The merchant meets thee 'mid his gold,
The hunter on the breezy wold;
The seaman finds no unknown bay,
But there thou lurkest for thy prey.
Thou spoiler of life's charm! thou cold
Defacer of time's purest gold!
Where is the spot to thee unknown?
The whole wide world by thee is sown,
And years must pass in misery steeped,
Ere that dread harvest shall be reaped.
The sea, the isles, to thee belong.
The hoary hills are all thine own,
With the grey cairn and cromlech-stone;
The groves of oak, the woods of pine,
The sunless ocean-caves are thine.
Thy ancient slumbers lie beneath
The untilled verdure of the heath;
The merchant meets thee 'mid his gold,
The hunter on the breezy wold;
The seaman finds no unknown bay,
But there thou lurkest for thy prey.
365
Defacer of time's purest gold!
Where is the spot to thee unknown?
The whole wide world by thee is sown,
And years must pass in misery steeped,
Ere that dread harvest shall be reaped.
Yet, conqueror of conquerors stern!
Yet, deaf despoiler! who dost spurn
All prayers, all tears; thou yet must bow
Unto a mightier than thou.
Long in thy night was man forlorn,
Long didst thou laugh his hopes to scorn;
Vain were philosophy's faint dreams,
Their light was but as meteor gleams;
Till rose the conqueror of Death,
The humble man of Nazareth;
He stood between us and despair;
He bore, and gave us strength to bear;
The mysteries of the grave unsealed,
And our high destiny revealed.
Nor bard, nor sage, may comprehend
The heaven of rest to which we tend.
Our home is not this mortal clime;
Our life hath not its bounds in time;
And death is but the cloud that lies
Between our souls and paradise!
Yet, deaf despoiler! who dost spurn
All prayers, all tears; thou yet must bow
Unto a mightier than thou.
Long in thy night was man forlorn,
Long didst thou laugh his hopes to scorn;
Vain were philosophy's faint dreams,
Their light was but as meteor gleams;
Till rose the conqueror of Death,
The humble man of Nazareth;
He stood between us and despair;
He bore, and gave us strength to bear;
The mysteries of the grave unsealed,
And our high destiny revealed.
366
The heaven of rest to which we tend.
Our home is not this mortal clime;
Our life hath not its bounds in time;
And death is but the cloud that lies
Between our souls and paradise!
Oh, Death! well might each thoughtful race
Give thee the high and holy place;
Earth's loveliest scenes are meet for thee,
Thou portal of Eternity!
Give thee the high and holy place;
Earth's loveliest scenes are meet for thee,
Thou portal of Eternity!
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