LIFE AND DEATH by ANNIE MATHESON

AFRAID of Death?—A quiet sleep
In Love's embrace, untroubled, deep,
With no dark dreams of earth perplexed,
No tangled moral problems vexed,—
Afraid of Death?—
Afraid of Death, that waking bright
To higher duties, clearer light,
Where, having bathed in perfect rest,
With perfect vigour he is blest
Who laboureth?—
Afraid of Death, the welcome touch
Of those dear souls we love so much,
Who, having been with us made one,
Wait patient till our task is done?—
Afraid of Death?—

Oh, Life it is, not Death, we fear,
Where through the mist we see not clear,
Where truth still bids us seem unkind,
And faith so often falters blind
Through foolish dreams:
Where Time will suffer no delay
But drives us on from day to day;
Where Duty at the cross-road stands,
And, stretching right and left her hands,
Bewildered seems.

'Both paths are mine,' she seems to say,
'Yet each from either leads away:
Both paths are mine, nor harm shall lack
To him who, taking one, turns back
To look again.'
Oh, it is Life that bids us choose
The ventures that may gain or lose,
Not our slight erring souls alone
But souls far dearer than our own,
For joy or pain.

Life's sweetest harmonies are wed
With solemn discords harsh and dread:
His awful beauty seems to burn
The upward, longing gaze we turn
To meet His glance.
He leads us through a puzzled maze
Where honest purpose often strays,
And love toils on till evening chime,
Still manacled by space and time
And circumstance;

Where oft we wound the hearts we fain
Would shield from every touch of pain,
And, striving to bestow a good,
May learn too late our hardihood:
Where, day by day,
Our keenest joys are touched with fear
That we may lose what is most dear:
Where random words, that were not meant,
We may in agony repent
But not unsay.

It is not Death we fear, but Life.
Yet he who turns him from the strife,
And, ere the day is won or lost,
In coward haste will leave his post
And deathward fly,
A thing for pity and for scorn,—
Far better he had not been born,
Or, having fought, ignobly failed,
Than thus before the onset quailed
And sought to die.

Oh, save us from that lowest shame,
Thou of the secret wondrous Name,
That we may learn and understand,
And out of Thine almighty hand
Life's secret wrest!
If till the dawn with Thee we strive,
We shall at last have strength to live,
And, having wrestled through the night,
Shall see Thy face with morning light,
And shall be blest.

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