THE feeble pulse, the gasping breath, The clenched teeth, the glazed eye, Are these thy sting, thou dreadful death? O grave, are these thy victory! The mourners by our parting bed, The wife, the children weeping nigh, The dismal pageant of the dead, -- These, these are not thy victory! But from the much-loved world to part, Our lust untamed, our spirit high, All nature struggling at the heart, Which, dying, feels it dare not die! To dream through life a gaudy dream Of pride and pomp and luxury, Till waken'd by the nearer gleam Of burning boundless agony; To meet o'er-soon our angry King, Whose love we pass'd unheeded by; Lo this, O death, thy deadliest sting! O grave, and this thy victory! O Searcher of the secret heart, Who deign'd for sinful man to die! Restore us ere the spirit part, Nor give to hell the victory! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...BABY BELL by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH THE OLD WOMAN by JOSEPH CAMPBELL FEBRUARY IN ROME by EDMUND WILLIAM GOSSE AN EVENING LULL by WALT WHITMAN PEARLS OF THE FAITH: 93. AL-NOOR by EDWIN ARNOLD THE WITCHES' FROLIC by RICHARD HARRIS BARHAM STANZAS TO AN AFFECTIONATE AND PIOUS PARENT, ON THE DEATH OF HER CHILD by BERNARD BARTON IMPULSIVE DIALOGUE by MAXWELL BODENHEIM JACK FROST AND THE CATY-DID by JOHN GARDINER CALKINS BRAINARD |