Poems (Smith)/Death
For works with similar titles, see Death.
Death!—what is it? Why do we shudder
To meet the grim monster face to face?
'Tis ever with us,—we can not escape it;
Ere long we'll be in Death's cold embrace.
DEATH.
Death!—what is it? Why do we shudder
To meet the grim monster face to face?
'Tis ever with us,—we can not escape it;
Ere long we'll be in Death's cold embrace.
If only ready to" meet the dread summons
When God may call us to mingle with dust,
And feel our hearts pure, sins all forgiven,
Awaiting our reward in Heaven with trust.
When God may call us to mingle with dust,
And feel our hearts pure, sins all forgiven,
Awaiting our reward in Heaven with trust.
This subject on which we too seldom reflect,
Hoarding up wealth to harden the heart,
Death comes at last in all his dark terrors,
Shrieking we bid the grim monster depart.
Hoarding up wealth to harden the heart,
Death comes at last in all his dark terrors,
Shrieking we bid the grim monster depart.
But 'tis too late! Death's icy cold fingers
Clasp us already tight round the heart:
Prayers nor riches will not then avail us
In the dread hour when called to depart.
Clasp us already tight round the heart:
Prayers nor riches will not then avail us
In the dread hour when called to depart.