Death and its Antidote

The strongest hearts grow fearful at the name
Of him who gathers up the coil of things;
Surceasing breath and life that flies, yet clings,
May be a terror, without touch of shame;
That worms shall revel in the heart of Pride,
And death-damps chill the brows of happy men,
Is truth avow'd and awful! When, oh! when,
Shall I, and those I love, our turn abide?
But stay, my soul! with fond assurance call
Those hopes into thy landscape, fain to rise,
Even then, when earth was powerless in the thrall
Of hateful rites, and mythologic ties,
But priceless now, beyond the count of gold;
Not vague, but true, not fearful, but most bold!