—Alfred Tennyson
Some one has called the fourth verse of the Psalm a song of the waters. Did you ever hear singing on the water? There is something wonderful about it. The water seems to take all harshness out of the music, and puts something exquisitely beautiful into it. Here then is "a psalm of the waters," a song for the believer to sing when his feet are touching the margin of the river: "When thou passest through the waters, I will be with thee; and through the rivers, they shall not overflow thee.... For I am the Lord thy God."
Here, too, is "a song in the night." Sing it, Christian pilgrim, when earth's last hour is at hand. Sing it as you enter the valley. Sing it as the darkness deepens. Sing it when the light of earth's day begins to fade. Sing it when the earth is receding, heaven is opening and God is calling you. Sing it until the glory of the eternal morn breaks upon thine enraptured vision. Sing it until your feet stand upon that golden shore against which death's chilly wave never again shall dash, and where death is no more. Sing it, sing this song of the waters—"Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil; for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me."
Why be afraid of Death as though your life were breath!
Death but anoints your eyes with clay. Oh 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.
A day—and you will meet—a night—and you will greet!
This is the death of Death, to breathe away a breath,
And know the end of strife and taste the deathless life.
And joy without a fear and smile without a tear,
And work, nor care, nor rest, and find the last the best.