For it may be
That end of life is but the opening wide
Of some shut door through which there flows
The muted music of the universe—
The breath of Eden, perfumed like a rose.
That end of life is but the opening wide
Of some shut door through which there flows
The muted music of the universe—
The breath of Eden, perfumed like a rose.
What we call death
May be in truth the swift and sure escape
As from some loathsome prison-keep—
The touching of a light-spring in the dark—
The waking from a troubled, anxious sleep.
May be in truth the swift and sure escape
As from some loathsome prison-keep—
The touching of a light-spring in the dark—
The waking from a troubled, anxious sleep.
Dread not to grope
And linger in some darkened sphere;
A single step, and leagues of space
And whirling worlds may be o'er sped,
And God and soul stand face to face.
And linger in some darkened sphere;
A single step, and leagues of space
And whirling worlds may be o'er sped,
And God and soul stand face to face.
The hand which slips
Nerveless and chill from earthly clasp—
The pulseless hand your living friends must yield—
May be caught up (Oh, sweet and blessed hope!)
By some dear lost one waiting unrevealed.
Nerveless and chill from earthly clasp—
The pulseless hand your living friends must yield—
May be caught up (Oh, sweet and blessed hope!)
By some dear lost one waiting unrevealed.
Therefore, be comforted,
O ye who've traveled to the end of life
And stand, foot-sore, upon its crumbling brink;
The onward journey is not long nor lone,
The Realm of Rest lies nearer than we think.
Therefore, be comforted!
O ye who've traveled to the end of life
And stand, foot-sore, upon its crumbling brink;
The onward journey is not long nor lone,
The Realm of Rest lies nearer than we think.
Therefore, be comforted!
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