The Answer to Death: A Poem

THE ANSWER TO DEATH. {For the Improvement Era.) The rain drippeth down through the night's heavy gloom, While we watch with the dead in the Jim-lighted room. And why should we whisper, — and why should we yearn For the mother whose child can never return? 0 passionate life, and 0 sorrow-hushed death, Whence cometh the stillness? Whence goeth the breath? Is't all a foul riddle which no one may read? Say, what is life's dogma! And what is death's creed? Death fastens 'ibout us his mystical coil, We laugh at his warning, but soon we recoil. He fixes the eye on the one we love most. What avail is our pleading, our prayers, or our boast? Like wind. Death will flee where he listeth to flee. He laughs at our hopes; and they fill him with glee. He greets you today, and may seize me tomorrow — Why gird at his presence, or shrink from his sorrow? 0 life, dost thou hold a certain hereafter? If so, we might shame Death with penitent laughter. Who knows if there will be an eternal Me? 0 read me the riddle, 0 give me the key! A voice from the silence, a song from the tomb, Reveals the ost message and pierceth the gloom: From the dead rose the Savior on glorified wing; — Where is the grave's victory, and where is Death's sting? Portland, Oregon. Harvey H. Gatbs.