It is not death to die,
To leave this weary road, And, midst the brotherhood on high,
To be at home with God.
It is not death to close
The eye long dimmed by tears, And wake in glorious repose,
To spend eternal years.
It is not death to bear
The wrench that sets us free From dungeon-chain, to breathe the air
Of boundless liberty.
It is not death to fling
Aside this sinful dust, And rise on strong, exulting wing,
To live among the just.
Jesus, thou Prince of Life,
Thy chosen cannot die! Like Thee they conquer in the strife,
To reign with Thee on high.
GEORGE WASHINGTON BETHUNE.
There is no death! the stars go down
To rise upon some other shore, And bright in heaven's jewelled crown
They shine forever more.
There is no death! the forest leaves
Convert to life the viewless air; The rocks disorganize to feed
The hungry moss they bear.
There is no death! the dust we tread
Shall change, beneath the summer showers, To golden grain, or mellow fruit,
Or rainbow-tinted flowers.