Poetry: Death

Th is is a world of care, And many thoms pon ifa pathway lie; Wtep not, tben, mothers, foryour fond and fair- Let the young die! Joys are like cummer flowers, And toon the blossoms of their heauty fall; Clouds bloom o'or both; brief are bolh the hours- Dealh ends them all! This is a world of strife, Of feverish strtiglfts. and satiefy, And blighted enterpri.e - what then is life' Let the strong die! All human lovo is vain, And hximan might is but an empty sound; Power both of mind Rnd body bringeth pain - Deat li is its bound!Tliis a a world of wo, Of heaviness, nnd anxiety; Why cling we thrn to evils thot we know? Lot the o!ddie! Wretlin wit'i fell ciscase, Vain lamentation o'er dcparled yearg; I( nut tge rife wit k these? Death dries all lears! This is a woríd of pato : There ts a "brtter land" beyond thenky; A humble Fpirit muy that portion gain- Let the jnst die! But let thottt hrink with dread, Whose days have been of evi!,leat lhey find, When all their etrthly hopes are withered, Deepair behind! Let tbpm implore for airl, A fitter record of their years to give; And lean on Him wlio mercifnlly bade The sisner live!