The Oskaloosa herald., 1902-07-31
THERE rs NO DEATH.

THERE rs NO DEATH.
The Chicago Tribune has been for
several weeks running on its first
page each day selection under the
beading, "Poems You Ought to
Know" A few days ago appeared
the we'll known poem, "There is no
Death, by McCreery, rightly credited
to him in short explanatory pass
age written out by Mr.. Charles A.
Kent, formerly of this city, but now
of Chicago. The poem and the ex-
PLANTATION of the disputed authorship
are given herewith.
This bea itiful touching poem is the
creation of Mr.. J. l.. McCreery, ma
tive of Iowa, and at one time editor
of the Delaware County Journal of
that state. The poem was written in
1868 and was first published in Ar
thurs Home Magazine in July OF that
year. The authorship of the poem was
for many years enormously attributed
to Lord Lytton, the Englih poet. A
thorough investigation carried on by
Lippincott's a few years ago fully es-
tablished the authorship. The poem
has been printed in every state of the
union, in England, Scotland, Ireland,
Wales, Canada and even in Australia.
II has gone into dozens of school
books and been incorporated in scores
of miscellaneous collections of poetry.
1t has been quoted in full or in part
at least five times on the floor of Con-
gress. Mr.. McCreery has for the past
ten years been resident of the ma
tional capital and his best poems have
been collected in to volume entitled,
Songs of Toll and Triumph"
There is no death! the stars go down
To rise upon some other shore,
And bright in heavens jeweled crown
They shine forever more.
Convert to life the viewless air;
The rocks disorganize to feed
The hungry moss they bear.
There is no death! the dust We tread
Shall change, beneath the summer
showers.
The golden grain, or mellow fruit,
Or rainbow tinted flowers.
There is no death! the leaves may fall,
The flowers may fade and pass away
They only wait through wintry hours,
The warm, sweet breath of May.
There is no death! the choicest gifts
That heaven hath kindly lent to
earth
Are ever first to seek again
The country of their birth.
And all things that for growth or Joy
Are worthy of our love or care,
Whose loss has left us desolate,
Are safely garnered there.
Though life become dreary waste,
We know its fairest, sweetest flowers,
Transplanted into paradise,
Adorn immortal bowers.
The voice of bird-like melody
That we have missed and mourned
so long
Now mingles with the angel choir
In everlasting song.
There is no death, although we grieve
When beautiful, familiar forms,
That We have learned to love are torn
From our embracing arms.
Although with bowed and breaking
heart,
With sable garb and silent tread,
We bear their senseless dust to rest,
And say that they are dead"
They are not dead! they have but
passed
Beyond the mists that blind us here
Into the new and larger life
OF that serener sphere.
They have but dropped their robe of
clay
To put their shining raiment on;
They have not wandered far away
They are not "lost" or "gone."
Though disenthralled and glorified,
They still are here and love us yet;
The dear ones they have left behind
They never can forget.
And sometimes, when our hearts grow
faint
Amid temptations fierce and deep,
Or when tie wildly raging waves
OF grief or passion sweep.
We feel upon our fevered brow
Their gentle touch, their breath of
balm;
Their arms enfold us, and our hearts
Grow comforted and calm.
And ever near us, though unseen,
The dear, immortal spirits tread;
For all the boundless universe
Is life-there are no dead.