Part 1 — EMANCIPATION
Reading edition
[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 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.