IT can not be that this poor life shall end us! God's words are truthful and His ways are just. He would not here to sin and sorrow send us, And then blot out our souls with "dust to dust;" Saving our clay, and back to Nature giving, Smothering our soul ere it hath had its living. It can not be! It can not be that One so just and perfect Would make a perfect universe, and plan The star of all should be at last imperfect— Life, yet leave that life half-lived in wretched man. Forever lives the gross—the dead material— Forever dies the life—the spark imperial? It can not be! It can not be, for life is more than living; It can not be, for death is more than dream. Think ye to clod God daily life is giving, Yet from the grave shut out the grander beam? Night is but day ere it hath had its dawning— Death a brief night, and waiteth for the morning, Which soon shall be! Thou art not dead, dear one, I know thou livest, Thou art not dead, for still the bright stars shine. Thou art not dead, for yet the live sun giveth Light—and had he e'er so sweet a light as thine? Good-night!—good-bye, were sorrow's grave of sorrow! Good-night!—for we shall live and love to-morrow, Because God lives! |