DEATH.

Why mourn the perished glories of the past? Why wrong with murmurs Death's paternal care? Sire of immortal Beauty, from his vast Embrace with Infinite Life, spring all things fair And good and wonderful: Ye are not cast, Like wailing orphans, on the desert bare, To cry and perish. Life comes everywhere With Mother-love, and strong Death garners fast His bounty for her board; for all which live His tireless hands the harvest sow and reap, He feeds alone those lily breasts which give New strength to all on Life's white arms that leap; Fear not, sweet babes, in his thick mantle furled, Now lulled asleep, to wake in a new splendor-world.