Life and Death.
On a bed of pain the sick girl lay
With closed, white-lidded eyes,
As the sunset gilded the azure bay
And crimsoned the western skies,
Whilst over her head in bitter strife
Strove the Angel of Death and the Angel of Life.
In and out of the chamber crept
The watchers, with noiseless tread,
They feared to disturb the one who slept,
For they knew how frail the thread
That held her light and wavering breath
And balanced her soul between life and death.
Then a gentle voice the silence broke,
And they gathered around the bed;
In low, sweet accents the sick girl spoke.
Strange were the words she said:
“Hearken to me and cease the strife,
O Angel of Death and Angel of Life.
“I am weary listening to the strife
And to end it I am fain,
So cease to struggle, O Death and Life
And I’ll choose between ye twain.”
Then turning to Life she wearily sighed,
“Tell me, what gifts can’st thou give thy bride?”
