POETRY.

Poverty Bay Standard, Volume II, Issue 154, 31 March 1874, Page 2

POETRY.

THERE IS NO DEATH. [by SIR EDWARD BULWER LYTTON.] There is no death! The stars go down To rise upon some fairer shore ; And bright in Heaven’s jewelled crown, They shine for evermore. There is no death ! Their dust we trend Shall change beneath the summer's showers To golden grain or mellow fruit, Or ruinbow-tinted flowers. The granite rocks disorganize To feed the hungry moss they bear ; The forest leaves drink daily life From out the viewless air. There is no death ! The leaves may fall The flowers may fade and pass away ; They only wait, through wintry hours, The coming of the May. There is no death! An angel form Walks o’er the earth with silent tread; He bears our best loved things away, And then we call them “ dead.” He leaves our hearts all desolate — He plucks our fairest flowers; Transplanted into bliss, they now Adorn immortal bowers. The bird-like voice, whose joyous tones Make glad these scenes af sin and strife, Sings now an everlasting song Amid the tree of life. And where he sees a smile too bright, Or heart too pure for taint or vice, He bears it to that world of light, To dwell in Paradise. Born into that undying life, They leave us but to come again ; With joy we welcome them —the same, Except in sin and pain. And ever near us, though unseen, The dear immortal spirits tread, For all the boundless universe Is life—there are no dead.