On Death

Can death be sleep, when life is but a dream,
And scenes of bliss pass as a phantom by?
The transient pleasures as a vision seem,
And yet we think the greatest pain's to die.
How strange it is that man on earth should roam,
And lead a life of woe, but not forsake,
His rugged path; nor dare he view alone,
His future doom, which is but to awake.

John Keats

A Shadow

What lack the valleys and the mountains
That once were green and gay?
What lack the babbling fountains?
Their voice is sad today.
Only the sound of a voice,
Tender and sweet and low,
That made the earth rejoice,
A year ago!

What lack the tender flowers?
A shadow is on the sun:
What lack the merry hours,
That I long that they were done?
Only two smiling eyes,
That told of joy and mirth;
They are shining in the skies,
I mourn on earth!

What lacks my heart, that makes it
So weary and full of pain,
That trembling Hope forsakes it,
Never to come again?
Only another heart,
Tender and all mine own,
In the still grave it lies;
I weep alone!

A. A. Procter

The Tyrant And The Captive

Thus the stern Voice spake in triumph: -
"I have shut your life away
From the radiant world of nature,
And the perfumed light of day.
You, who loved to steep your spirit
In the charm of Earth's delight,
See no glory of the daytime,
And no sweetness of the night."

But the soft Voice answered calmly: -
"Nay, for when the March winds bring
Just a whisper to my window,
I can dream the rest of Spring;
And today I saw a swallow
Flitting past my prison bars,
And my cell has just one corner
Whence at night I see the stars."
 

But its bitter taunt repeating,
Cried the harsh Voice: -
"Where are they,
All the friends of former hours,
Who forget your name today?
All the links of love are shattered,
Which you thought so strong before;
And your very heart is lonely,
And alone since loved no more."

But the low Voice spoke still lower: -
"Nay, I know the golden chain
Of my love is purer, stronger,
For the cruel fire of pain:
They remember me no longer,
But I, grieving here alone,
Bind their souls to me forever
By the love within my own."

But the Voice cried: - "Once remember
You devoted soul and mind
To the welfare of your brethren,
And the service of your kind.
Now, what sorrow can you comfort?
You, who lie in helpless pain,
With an impotent compassion
Fretting out your life in vain."
 

"Nay"; and then the gentle answer
Rose more loud, and full, and clear:
"For the sake of all my brethren
I thank God that I am here!
Poor had been my Life's best efforts,
Now I waste no thought or breath, -
For the prayer of those who suffer
Has the strength of Love and Death."

A. A. Procter