I envy not the dead that rest

I envy not the dead that rest,
The souls that sing and fly;
Not for the sake of all the Blest,
Am I content to die.

If ever men were laid in earth,
And might in earth repose,
Where spirits have no second birth—
Those, those, I envy, those.

My being would I gladly give,
Rejoicing to be freed;
But if for ever I must live.
Then let me live indeed.

What peace could ever be to me
The joy that strives with strife?
What blissful immortality
So sweet as struggling life?