Life and Death

    
    Life is a desert drear,
    
    
    
    A sandy plain ;
    
    A waste, a wild career
    
    For phantom forms of Fear,
    
    
    Sorrow and Pain.
    
    No guide hath man, no guide—
    
    Self must on self confide ;
    
    No hand to lead him on,
    
    No hope to rest upon—
    
    
    Nought but the grave !
Man veils his eyes, and lo, blind Phantasy
Sits at her loom and weaves a sacred mystery,
A magic woof of dreams—glad dreams of liberty—
    
    
    To mock a slave !

    
    And Death ? Ah Death’s a sage
    
    
    Who stills our fears ;
    
    Our doubts and faiths engage
    
    The wisdom of his age—
    
    
    And eke our tears.

                                                Hushed

    
    Hushed in expectancy
    
    We stake life’s paltry fee ;
    
    A last-drawn sigh, a sleep,
    
    And Death calls ” Laugh,” or “Weep,”—
    
    
    ‘Tis then we know
Thy form aright, O Master ! from the guise
Of Life’s prim pageant, Thee, with unsealed eyes—
Sum of our hopes or fears—we recognise
    
    
    For weal or woe !