Why be afraid of death, as though your life were breath? Death but anoints your eyes with clay. O glad surprise! Why should you be forlorn? Death only husks the corn. Why should you fear to meet the thresher of the wheat? Is sleep a thing to dread? Yet sleeping you are dead Till you awake and rise, here, or beyond the skies. Why should it be a wrench to leave your wooden bench? Why not, with happy shout, run home when school is out? The dear ones left behind? Oh, foolish one and blind! A day and you will meet—a night and you will greet. This is the death of death, to breathe away a breath And know the end of strife, and taste the deathless life, And joy without a fear, and smile without a tear; And work, nor care to rest, and find the last the best. |