The Democratic advocate. [volume] (Westminster, Md.) 1865-1972, 1881-06-25
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From the Irring Literary Gazette.
DEATH

From cradle to the grave, It's but step.
We enter life unconscious of the line
That draws its slender thread along our path,
To mark the limits of our infant feet,
And warn us of the narrow space we tread
In passing from life's dawn unto its eve
From shore to shore of that dividing stream
snapned only by the short, frail bridge of time.
When first we touch with timid totring strength
The frail support that shields US from the rush
ofdeath's deep rolling food below, we look
With chilling dread upon the current dark
Then gaze before to feed on budding hopes
With prospects of far brighter scenes beyond.
We start on life's delusive course, and strive
To press our journey through an endless length,
And thus enjoy existence here without
The dread encounter with its bitter end
Alas the brightest visions of the soul
Appear. and fade, while vacant darkness fills
The place wherein they late with beauty glowed,
The sweetest notes of human tongues die on
The lips unsung, because the seal of death
Is set lust where the melody begins;
The brightest light of human eye is quenched
inst as its sparkle shows the dawn Of mind;
The fairest face that glows with radiant joy.
Resigns its flush of beauty and grows pale
To satisfy the hunger Of disease;
The stalwart form Of most symmetrie mold,
Wherein the glorious might Of manhood lies,
Bows down decrepit meath weight of years
Fts strength all wasted and its fullness gone;
The tender voice of childhood scarce begins
To prattle round the doting mothers knee
Before the halfforned words are driven from
The tiny lips by bitter cries Of pain;
And little hands that can just grasp our own
Are stricken down and laid across the breast
Their mission ended ere their their toll begins;
The tear that vets to-day the cheek of health,
Tomorrow is absorbed by fever's fire.
Or bound within its source by icy chilli
The brow upon which rests the impress Of
Minerya's hand, or round which clings IIght
Divine, is darkened by the shadow Of
The tomb; the matehleSs dignity and grace
That. borrowed from the Source Of majesty,
Rest for a little while on face and form,
Are snatched away by that reSistless power
Which blots out all that's earthly with touch
And turns all human beauty into dust
With one sad scene all mortal dramas close;
At one dread point all finite journeys meet.
Here. centre all the aims and hopes Of life,
And at this centre end, and arc no more.
One moment at the couch Of death sums up
The millions that have one by one dropt out
Oftime and gone 10 add their portion 10
The ranks Of ages past one glance into
The open grave reveals the depth OF gloom
Into which sink at last both great and small
Death mocks the empty name that tries to iiii
BY titled sound one piece Of clay above
It's kindred piece, and lays with equal stroke
The rich and poor beneath a common sod.
To-day our buoyant feet press down the grass
That ere tomorrow fades, viii bend beneath
The solemn tread of those who bear our pail.
Oh! how the last sad scenes beside the couch
OF pain cling round the heart and press in years
To come upon our thoughts with mournfui weigh
The darkened room, the slowly ticking clock
That measures out the last faint beatings Of
The pulse; the silent awe, that specifies, waits
The entrance Of that dreaded guest who seems
SO near the whispered words Of those who Waic
The noiseless going in and out; the look
That asks what lips have grown afraid to speak :
The moistened eye, the stiaed sob Of her
Whose falfring voice strives hard 10 say Ny child
The trembling hand, the low bowed form, the FAC
Upturned to meet the downward gaze Of friends
who gather round; the feeble, iufring touch,
The last farewell, the closing eye, the shroud'
The pail, the diree, the grave, and all Is Ger.