The Paths of Death

How pleasant are thy paths, O Death!
Like the bright slanting west,
Thou leadest down into the glow
Where all those heaven-bound sunsets go,
Ever from toil to rest.

How pleasant are thy paths, O Death!
Back to our own dear dead,
Into that land which hides in tombs
The better part of our old homes;
'Tis there thou mak st our bed.

How pleasant are thy paths. O Death!
Thither where sorrows cease,
To a new life, to an old past,
Softly and silently we haste,
Into a land of peace.

How pleasant are thy paths, O Death!
Thy new restores our lost;
There are voices of the new times
With the ringing of the old chimes
Blent sweetly on thy coast.

How pleasant are thy paths, O Death!
One faint for want of breath, -
And above thy promise thou hast given:
All, we find more than all in Heaven,
O thou truth-speaking Death!

How pleasant are thy paths, O Death!
E en children after play
Lie down, without the least alarm,
And sleep, in thy maternal arm,
Their little life away.

How pleasant are thy paths, O Death!
E en grown-up men secure
Better manhood, by a brave leap
Through the chill mist of thy thin sleep, -
Manhood that will endure.

How pleasant are thy paths, O Death!
The old, the very old,
Smile when their slumberous eye grows dim,
Smile when they feel thee touch each limb,
Their age was not less cold.

How pleasant are thy paths, O Death!
Ever from pain to ease;
Patience, that hath held on for years,
Never unlearns her humble fears
Of terrible disease.

How pleasant are thy paths, O Death!
From sin to pleasing God;
For the pardoned in thy land are bright
As innocence in robe of white,
And walk on the same road.

How pleasant are thy paths, O Death!
Straight to our Father's Home;
Alt loss were gain that gained us this,
The sight of God, that single bliss
Of the grand world to come.

How pleasant are thy paths, O Death!
Ever from toil to rest, -
Where a rim of sea-like splendor runs,
Where the days bury their golden suns,
In the dear hopeful west!