"There
is no death!"
MARY
LLOYD McCONNEL
O
Death! At home they call it death —
And sit and weep because
they think
Their sons beloved are
slain,
And they are left
alone
To mourn their dead.
While we, across the
trenches' top,
Have leaped to Life, and
find
We have but left
behind
The rags and blood and
dirt
Of grimy battle field,
and —
A great host of us,
All eager, happy, and
alive —
Are pressing onwards
toward a goal
We dimly see of duty,
beauty,
Love, and Life, which
calls us on
To tasks more glorious
than
We could achieve midst
stress
And storm and reek of
cannon smoke.
Hark! You can hear us
calling
From each to each a
greeting
As we meet, —
comrades and erstwhile foe.
"Friend! Is this all to
death?
Why should we ever
fear
This passing through a
shadow
Which but seems a
moment's shock,
As though we had but
bowed our heads
To pass beneath a narrow
doorway
From some dugout small,
and found
Ourselves a little
blinded by the light
Which shines from
Heaven's eternal day?
You here! — You
too! — And you!
How glad we are to
find
Each other, and to
prove
There is no
death!"
Mary
Lloyd McConnel
[Originally published in The Christian Science
Monitor]
Christian Science
Sentinel, September 21, 1918
|