"NEITHER SORROW, NOR CRYING."

From death's illusion we shall wake to know
There is no death: 'tis but the changing show
Of sin's necessity, the ebb or flow
Of falsehood's ocean, ever surging, sighing
Unto the pitying stars, and vainly trying
To wed earth's falsity to Truth undying.
Vain is the effort, and the issue vain,
There is but discord in the dark refrain,
Tis but a phantom of the frenzied brain.
"Ye die to enter heaven," the preacher saith
To drowsy ears: this ancient shibboleth
Knows not the truth of time, "There is no death."
"She is not dead; she sleeps," the Nazarene
Told to amazed mankind, "and heaven unseen
Is here at hand, and always here has been:
The kingdom is within you." Oh, what tears
Had been unwept along the unnumbered years,
Had this been taught by priests and presbyters!
There is a tone upon the wandering wind
That calls my heart sweet harmony to find—
Voices of earth and heaven attuned, combined.
The morning brings them on her balmy breath,
Fresh from the lips of flowers, and whispereth,
"We know no want, no woe, no pain, no death.''
Can I behold a wilding rose, and yet
Cast not my cares aside? Mine eyes are wet,
But they are tears of joy; for I forget
The dark despairing past; on briar and thorn
Gleam the fresh glories of a hope new-born;
Can ye not see the roses, ye that mourn?
Over the hills, over the sapphire sea.
The Life that knows no death is calling thee:
"Ye sons of earth, the Son hath made you free;
Then ye are sons indeed." Over the hills
The stars are gazing where the dew distils
Tears on the lids of starlike daffodils—
Tears, silver tears, types of a world outworn,
Of moaning multitudes, and lives forlorn:
"There shall be no more tears," so Love hath sworn.