Select poems / by L.H. Sigourney [electronic resource]

THE BITTERNESS OF DEATH.

"Oh Death! how bitter is the remembrance of thee to a man that is at ease in his possessions."

— ECCLESIASTICUS, iv., 1.

THE rich man moved in pomp. His soul was gorged With the gross fulness [sic] of material things, So that it spread no pinion forth to seek A better world than this. There was a change, And in the sleepless chamber of disease, Curtained and nursed, and ill-content he lay. He had a wasted and an eager look, And on the healer's brow he fixed a glance, Keen—yet imploring. What he greatly feared Had come upon him. So he went his way— The way of all the earth—and his lands took Another's name. Why dost thou come. O Death!

To print the bridal chamber with thy foot, And leave the ruin of thy ministry, Where love, and joy, and hope so late had hung Their diamond cressets? To the cradle side Why need'st thou steal, changing to thine own hue Of ghastly pale, the youthful mother's brow; And for her nightly watching, leaving nought In mocking payment, but a form of clay, And the torn heart-strings in her bleeding breast? —Come to the aged, he hath sorely trod Time's rugged road, until his staff is broke, And his feet palsied, and his friends all gone; Lay thy cold finger on life's last faint spark, And scarcely gasping he shall follow thee, —Come to the saint, for he will meekly take Thy message to his soul, and welcome thee In Jesus' name, and bless the shadowy gate Which thou dost open. Wait awhile, O Death! For those who love this fleeting world too well; Wait, till it force their hearts to turn away From all its empty promises, and loathe Its deep hypocrisy. Oh! wait for those Who have not tasted yet of Heaven's high grace, Nor bring them to their audit, all unclothed With a Redeemer's righteousness.