A GREETING.
OH, dear and friendly Death,
End of my road, however long it be,
Waiting with hospitable hands stretched out
And full of gifts for me!
Why do we call thee foe,
Clouding with darksome mists thy face divine?
Life, she was sweet, but poor her largess seems
When matched with thine.
Thy amaranthine blooms
Are not less lovely than her rose of joy;
And the rare, subtle perfumes which they breathe
Never the senses cloy.
Thou holdest in thy store
Full satisfaction of all doubt, reply
To question, and the golden clews to dreams
Darkness to tired eyes,
Perplexed with vision, blinded with long day;
Quiet to busy hands, glad to fold up
And lay their work away.
A balm for anguish past,
Rest to the long unrest which smiles did hide;
The recognitions thirsted for in vain,
And still by life denied.
A nearness, all unknown
While in these stifling, prisoning bodies pent,
Unto thy soul and mine, beloved, made one
At last in full content.
Thou bringest me mine own,
The garnered flowers which felt thy sickle keen,
And the full vision of that Face divine,
Which I have loved unseen.
Oh, dear and friendly Death,
End of my road, however long it be,
Nearing me day by day, I still can smile
Whene’er I think of thee!