There is no death! the leaves may fall.
The flowers may fade and pass away— They only wait, through wintry hours,
The warm sweet breath of May.
There is no death! the choicest gifts
That heaven hath kindly lent to earth Are ever first to seek again
The country of their birth.
And all things that for growth of joy
Are worthy of our love or care, Whose loss has left us desolate,
Are safely garnered there.
Though life become a dreary waste,
We know its fairest, sweetest flowers, Transplanted into paradise,
Adorn immortal bowers.
The voice of bird-like melody
That we have missed and mourned so long Now mingles with the angel choir
In everlasting song.
There is no death! although we grieve
When beautiful, familiar forms That we have learned to love are torn
From our embracing arms;
Although with bowed and breaking heart,
With sable garb and silent tread, We bear their senseless dust to rest,
And say that they are "dead."
They are not dead! they have but passed
Beyond the mists that blind us here Into the new and larger life
Of that serener sphere.
They have but dropped their robe of clay
To put their shining raiment on; They have not wandered far away—
They are not "lost" or "gone."
Though disenthralled and glorified,
They still are here and love us yet; The dear ones they have left behind
They never can forget.