We are too stupid about death. We will not learn
How it is wages paid to those who earn,
How it is the gift for which on earth we yearn,
To be set free from the bondage to the flesh;
How it is turning seed-corn into grain,
How it is winning heaven’s eternal gain,
How it means freedom evermore from pain,
How it untangles every mortal mesh.
We are so selfish about death. We count our grief
Far more than we consider their relief
Whom the great Reaper gathers in the sheaf,
No more to know the seasons’ constant change;
And we forget that it means only life,
Life with all joy, peace, rest, and glory rife,
The victory won, and ended all the strife,
And heaven no longer far away or strange.
Their Lent is over, and their Easter won,
Waiting till over paradise the sun
Shall rise in majesty, and life begun
Shall grow in glory, as the perfect day
Moves on, to hold its endless, deathless sway.
--WILLIAM CROSWELL DOANE, _The Outlook_.
(680)