Thomas Cole's poetry the collected poems of America's foremost painter of the Hudson River School reflecting his feelings for nature and the romantic spirit of the Nineteenth Century |
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 | Thomas Cole's poetry |  |
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80.
Life
Life is the keeper of the gate called Death,
Leadeth us there and ope's the gloomy door
Taketh thereat the toll, our mortal breath;
Then journeys on with us forever more.
Leadeth us there and ope's the gloomy door
Taketh thereat the toll, our mortal breath;
Then journeys on with us forever more.
Life is the mortal house where dwells the soul
Upon the margin of eternal time
One side is bared when waves of trouble roll;
The other stands 'mid silent deeps sublime.
Upon the margin of eternal time
One side is bared when waves of trouble roll;
The other stands 'mid silent deeps sublime.
Life is the air we breathe, the things around
We see and feel—these are its mortal load
Death touches us, they pass and with a bound
We spring aloft to seek a new abode.
We see and feel—these are its mortal load
Death touches us, they pass and with a bound
We spring aloft to seek a new abode.
Life is our all—this little vale of tears
Is but the vestibule where we unrobe,
Death lifts the curtain and beyond appears
The Life of Life that is not of our globe.
Is but the vestibule where we unrobe,
Death lifts the curtain and beyond appears
The Life of Life that is not of our globe.
Life! Life! Which way we look is Life. Death
Is but the shadow of our sin on Life;
That dims the glass of being like a breath;
But Heaven shall shine upon the shade and Life
Be free from strain, and brighter be through Death.
Is but the shadow of our sin on Life;
That dims the glass of being like a breath;
But Heaven shall shine upon the shade and Life
Be free from strain, and brighter be through Death.
| Thomas Cole's poetry | |