Poems (Holmes)/On Death
For works with similar titles, see On Death.
On Death.
How keen is the anguish that nature sustains
When Death in our midst doth appear,
And binds from our circle in his icy chains
The spirits by us held most dear.
When Death in our midst doth appear,
And binds from our circle in his icy chains
The spirits by us held most dear.
Ah, yes, when a parent we've fervently loved
Is snatched, in a moment of time,
From fondest of hearts, who, like spirits above,
Ever dwelt in union sublime.
Is snatched, in a moment of time,
From fondest of hearts, who, like spirits above,
Ever dwelt in union sublime.
Or when a sweet babe, like a flower just in bud,
From those who caressed it is torn,
Though carried by angels to bloom with its God,
How deep is the anguish that's borne.
From those who caressed it is torn,
Though carried by angels to bloom with its God,
How deep is the anguish that's borne.
But why without hope should we bitterly mourn
The lot that must fall on all men?
For the just who in faith pass through this sad vale,
Live where pain never reaches again.
The lot that must fall on all men?
For the just who in faith pass through this sad vale,
Live where pain never reaches again.
Oh, then let us find, in the deepest of woe,
The comfort so graciously given;
Though sorrow and death are our cross here below,
Peace and life both await us in heaven.
The comfort so graciously given;
Though sorrow and death are our cross here below,
Peace and life both await us in heaven.