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268
THE DEATH-ANGEL.
Cease, poor heart! thy pulse repeating;
Cease to move this weary breast.
Thou, since first began thy beating,
Ne'er hast known a moment's rest.
Vital streams, that from your centre
Coursed so warm through this frail clay,
Chills from me your fount now enter;
Turn ye back, no more to play!
Your restless, circling, crimson current
I for ever stay!
Mortal form, thine eye is closing,—
Sense is sleeping,—past the breath!
In my quiet arms reposing,
Thou hast peace; for I am Death!
Cease to move this weary breast.
Thou, since first began thy beating,
Ne'er hast known a moment's rest.
Vital streams, that from your centre
Coursed so warm through this frail clay,
Chills from me your fount now enter;
Turn ye back, no more to play!
Your restless, circling, crimson current
I for ever stay!
Mortal form, thine eye is closing,—
Sense is sleeping,—past the breath!
In my quiet arms reposing,
Thou hast peace; for I am Death!
Thou, glad Soul! from this pale covering
I but came to set thee free:
Here no more 'mid shadows hovering,
Rise to joys prepared for thee!
I unbar the pearly portals;
Yet beyond I must not go!
All within are bright immortals;—
I'm their Sovereign's conquered foe!
Though once within the grave I laid him,
Then he brought me low.
Soon he rose in power and glory,
And from sin, the grave, and me,
In his wondrous Name and story,
Left a passport sure for thee!
I but came to set thee free:
Here no more 'mid shadows hovering,
Rise to joys prepared for thee!
I unbar the pearly portals;
Yet beyond I must not go!
All within are bright immortals;—
I'm their Sovereign's conquered foe!
Though once within the grave I laid him,
Then he brought me low.
Soon he rose in power and glory,
And from sin, the grave, and me,
In his wondrous Name and story,
Left a passport sure for thee!
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