There is no death

There is No Death

By  John Luckey McCreery. 1863

There is no death! the stars go down  

To rise upon some other shore,

And bright in heaven’s jewelled crown  

They shine forever more. 

There is no death! the forest leaves        5  

Convert to life the viewless air;

The rocks disorganize to feed  

The hungry moss they bear. 

There is no death! the dust we tread  

Shall change, beneath the summer showers,        10

To golden grain, or mellow fruit,  

Or rainbow-tinted flowers. 

There is no death! the leaves may fall,  

  The flowers may fade and pass away—

They only wait, through wintry hours,        15  

  The warm sweet breath of May. 

There is no death! the choicest gifts  

  That heaven hath kindly lent to earth

Are ever first to seek again  

  The country of their birth.        20 

And all things that for growth of joy  

  Are worthy of our love or care,

Whose loss has left us desolate,  

  Are safely garnered there. 

Though life become a dreary waste,        25  

  We know its fairest, sweetest flowers,

Transplanted into paradise,  

  Adorn immortal bowers. 

The voice of bird-like melody  

  That we have missed and mourned so long        30

Now mingles with the angel choir  

  In everlasting song. 

There is no death! although we grieve  

  When beautiful, familiar forms

That we have learned to love are torn        35  

  From our embracing arms; 

Although with bowed and breaking heart,  

  With sable garb and silent tread,

We bear their senseless dust to rest,  

  And say that they are “dead.”        40 

They are not dead! they have but passed  

  Beyond the mists that blind us here

Into the new and larger life  

  Of that serener sphere. 

They have but dropped their robe of clay        45  

  To put their shining raiment on;

They have not wandered far away—  

    They are not “lost” or “gone.” 

Though disenthralled and glorified,  

  They still are here and love us yet;        50

The dear ones they have left behind  

  They never can forget. 

And sometimes, when our hearts grow faint  

  Amid temptations fierce and deep,

Or when the wildly raging waves        55  

  Of grief or passion sweep, 

We feel upon our fevered brow  

  Their gentle touch, their breath of balm;

Their arms enfold us, and our hearts  

  Grow comforted and calm.        60 

And ever near us, though unseen,  

The dear, immortal spirits tread;

For all the boundless universe  

  Is life—there are no dead.