There is no death!
The stars go down
To rise upon some
other shore,
And bright in heaven's
jeweled crown
They shine forevermore.
There is no death!
The forest leaves
Convert to life
the viewless air;
The rocks disorganize
to feed
The hungry moss
they bear.
There is no death!
The dust we tread
Shall change, beneath
the summer showers
To golden grain,
or mellowed fruit,
Or rainbow-tinted
flowers.
There is no death!
The leaves may fall,
And flowers may
fade and pass away--
They only wait,
through wintry hours,
The warm, sweet
breath of May.
There is no death!
The choicest gifts
That heaven hath
kindly lent to earth
Are ever first to
seek again
The country of their
birth.
And all things that
for growth or joy
Are worthy of our
love or care,
Whose loss has left
us desolate,
Are safely garnered
there.
Though life becomes
a desert waste,
We know it's fairest,
sweetest flowers,
Transplanted into
paradise,
Adorn immortal bowers.
The voice of birdlike
melody
That we have missed
and mourned so long,
Now mingles with
the angel choir
In everlasting song.
There is no death!
Although we grieve
When beautiful,
familiar forms
That we have learned
to love are torn
From our embracing
arms--
Although with bowed
and breaking heart,
With sable garb
and silent tread,
We bear their senseless
dust to rest,
And say that they
are "dead,"
They are not dead!
They have but passed
Beyond the mists
that blind us here
Into the new and
larger life
Of that serener
sphere.
They have but dropped
their robe of clay
To put their shining
raiment on;
They have not wandered
far away--
They are not "lost
nor "gone."
Though disenthralled
and glorified
They still are here
and love us yet;
The dear ones they
have left behind
They never can forget.
And sometimes, when
our hearts grow faint
Amid temptations
fierce and deep,
Or when the wildly
raging waves
Of grief or passion
sweep,
We feel upon our
fevered brow
Their gentle touch,
their breath of balm;
Their arms enfold
us, and our hearts
Grow comforted and
calm
And ever near us,
though unseen,
The dear, immortal
spirits tread--
For all the boundless
universe
Is life--there are
no dead!
J.
L. MCCREERY
