26
LOOKING DEATH IN THE FACE.
Yet I will meet it. Here I sit alone,—
Show me thy face, O Death!
There, there. I think
I did not tremble.
I am a young man;
Have done full many an ill deed, left undone
Many a good one: lived unto the flesh,
Not to the spirit: I would rather live
A few years more, and try if things might change.
Yet, yet I hope I do not tremble, Death;
And that thy finger pointed at my heart
But calms the tumult there.
Show me thy face, O Death!
There, there. I think
I did not tremble.
I am a young man;
Have done full many an ill deed, left undone
Many a good one: lived unto the flesh,
Not to the spirit: I would rather live
A few years more, and try if things might change.
Yet, yet I hope I do not tremble, Death;
And that thy finger pointed at my heart
But calms the tumult there.
What small account
The All-living seems to take of this thin flame
Which we call life.
He sends a moment's blast
Out of war's nostrils, and a myriad
Of these our puny tapers are blown out
Forever. Yet we shrink not,—we, such frail
Poor knaves, whom a spent ball can instant strike
Into eternity,—we helpless fools,
Whom a serf's clumsy hand and clumsier sword
Smiting—shall sudden into nothingness
Let out that something rare which could conceive
A universe and its God.
The All-living seems to take of this thin flame
Which we call life.
He sends a moment's blast
Out of war's nostrils, and a myriad
Of these our puny tapers are blown out
Forever. Yet we shrink not,—we, such frail
Poor knaves, whom a spent ball can instant strike
Into eternity,—we helpless fools,
Whom a serf's clumsy hand and clumsier sword
Smiting—shall sudden into nothingness
Let out that something rare which could conceive
A universe and its God.
Free, open-eyed,
We rush like bridegrooms to Death's grisly arms:
We rush like bridegrooms to Death's grisly arms:
