Life and Death
By Ellis J. Wynne
Life is a desert drear,
A sandy plain;
A waste, a wild career
For phantom forms of Fear,
Sorrow and Pain.
No guide hath man, no guide—-
Self must on self confide;
No hand to lead him on,
No hope to rest upon—
Nought but the grave!
Man veils his eyes, and lo, blind Phantasy
Sits at her loom and weaves a sacred mystery,
A magic woof of dreams—glad dreams of liberty—
To mock a slave!
And Death? Ah Death’s a sage
Who stills our fears;
Our doubts and faiths engage
The wisdom of his age—
And eke our tears.
Hushed in expectancy
We make life’s paltry fee;
A last-drawn sigh, a sleep,
And Death calls "Laugh,” or “Weep,"—
’Tis then we know
Thy form aright, O Master! from the guise
Of Life’s prim pageant, Thee, with unsealed eyes——
Sum of our hopes or fears—we recognise
For weal or woe!