EMANCIPATION
[The author of this poem passed away a few years ago—“Gone in the morning and there was no night there.” This immortal poem deserves to rank with that other—“There is no death.”—Ed.]
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 deadTill 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! O 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 breathAnd know the end of strife and taste the deathless life,And joy without a fear, and smile without a tear,And work, nor care, nor rest, and find the last the best.M. D. Babcock.
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 deadTill 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! O 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 breathAnd know the end of strife and taste the deathless life,And joy without a fear, and smile without a tear,And work, nor care, nor rest, and find the last the best.M. D. Babcock.
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 deadTill 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! O 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 breathAnd know the end of strife and taste the deathless life,And joy without a fear, and smile without a tear,And work, nor care, nor rest, and find the last the best.
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! O 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, nor rest, and find the last the best.
M. D. Babcock.
M. D. Babcock.