Poems (Clark)/Not Dead
NOT DEAD
We call her dead, this friend of our affection, Who,—passing on before,Beyond the veil that from our mortal vision, Conceals the radiant shore,—Lives now more truly than when here beside us, Her presence gave us joy,And taught us gentle lessons of a spirit That made Love's sweet employA daily round of patient, kind endeavor, To make earth's common waysBrighter, where e'er the path of Duty led her, Through active, well-spent days.
We call her dead, but they, God's loving angels, Who, kindly waiting near,Watched as she laid aside her mortal vestments, With smiles of holy cheer,Welcoming her to sweeter, nobler duties,— Know her as one new risenFrom pain and death, from fear of wrong or sinning, That holds us as a prison,—Into life, pure and full of peace unending; Life rich with such great gainThat even we, amid our grief, catch glimpses, Which sanctifies our pain.