[The author of this poem passed away a few years ago—“Gone in the morning and there was no night there.” This immortal poem deserves to rank with that other—“There is no death.”—Ed.]
Why be afraid of Death, as though your life were breath?
Death but anoints your eyes with clay. O glad surprise!
Why should you be forlorn? Death only husks the corn.
Why should you fear to meet the thresher of the wheat?
Is sleep a thing to dread? Yet, sleeping you are dead
Till you awake and rise, here—or beyond the skies.
Why should it be a wrench to leave your wooden bench,
Why not with happy shout run home when school is out?
The dear ones left behind! O foolish one and blind—