Poems (Angier)/Euthanasia
EUTHANASIA.
We read of a far-away island, so fair,
The death-angel's shadow ne'er darkened aught there;
So its dwellers live on, bowed with age and with care.
The death-angel's shadow ne'er darkened aught there;
So its dwellers live on, bowed with age and with care.
They long to be gone—'neath life's burden they sigh;
They crave but one blessing—they ask but to die,
And they grieve that the Good One their prayer should deny.
They crave but one blessing—they ask but to die,
And they grieve that the Good One their prayer should deny.
A bright vision only that island must prove;
A region where naught but the fancy may rove,
For through no paths like those did e'er human feet move.
A region where naught but the fancy may rove,
For through no paths like those did e'er human feet move.
Yet, we're booked for a journey—the mandate reads so,
How long we may travel One only can know,
But Love points the arrow that biddeth each go.
How long we may travel One only can know,
But Love points the arrow that biddeth each go.
The road may be rough, but 'tis quickly passed o'er;
The billows may rage, but they waft to the shore;
And once safely moored, storms will vex us no more.
The billows may rage, but they waft to the shore;
And once safely moored, storms will vex us no more.
So we pass on unfearing, for eye hath not seen
The place that's prepared, and long waiting hath been,
With azure sky, cloudless and nightless, serene.
The place that's prepared, and long waiting hath been,
With azure sky, cloudless and nightless, serene.
To picture the dwellers there, pen may not dare,
'Tis enough that no sin ever sheds its blight where
All pure are, and holy, and happy, and fair.
'Tis enough that no sin ever sheds its blight where
All pure are, and holy, and happy, and fair.
The way would be lonely, sad, desolate, drear,
Were it not through the darkness our Guide's voice we hear—
Though soft be His whisper, it calms every fear
Were it not through the darkness our Guide's voice we hear—
Though soft be His whisper, it calms every fear
My rebel thought, question not Heaven's decree,
It worse were than useless to murmur or flee,
For wisdom, not chance, rules the soul's destiny
It worse were than useless to murmur or flee,
For wisdom, not chance, rules the soul's destiny
Yes, booked for a journey—our first infant breath,
Is signal and sign of life's compact with death;
The rose and the cypress are twined in one wreath.
Is signal and sign of life's compact with death;
The rose and the cypress are twined in one wreath.
So, trustingly, tranquilly, move we along,
With faith in our Leader, with Hope in our song,
Who sends us, recalls, and He doeth none wrong.
With faith in our Leader, with Hope in our song,
Who sends us, recalls, and He doeth none wrong.