LIFE 401
Like thee, I do but change a dress
That's soiled from day to day ; Deem not for this all loveliness
Is doomed to pass away.
Like thee, I would not always wear
The torn robes of the past, And still throw by, with each new year,
My playthings of the last.
Hath Death's cold finger chilled a heart
Thou in thine own didst cherish ? Think not thy friend and I shall part ;
Nothing once made can perish.
'Tis only to grow warm once more.
That he hath now grown cold ; Time seeks his green youth to restore,
Lest Age might grow too old.
The blast that blights each wasted frame
But sets a captive free ; I breathe, and straight the vital flame
Wakes to new liberty.
Deem, then, no suicide am I,
Because he sleeps in dust ; Nor falsely think that men must die.
Because their bodies must.
Go, child of earth, henceforth fear not
Lest being cease to be ; Till God hath his own self forgot,
Space shall be filled with me.
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