--- title: Improvement Era description: Monthly periodical of the Mormon church, 1897 onward. This library holds the issues of November 1897 to December 1930. authors: - Gates, Harvey H. collections: - periodicals tags: - magazine - improvement-era periodical: Improvement Era volume: 11 number: 5 published: 1908-03 publisher: Young Men’s Mutual Improvement Associations publisher_place: Salt Lake City language: en type: magazine reference: 'Harvey H. Gates, "The Answer to Death: A Poem," *Improvement Era* 11, no. 5 (March 1908): 341.' source: url: https://archive.org/details/improvementera1105unse transcription: Transcribed from the Internet Archive scan of each issue (the item for each issue is named in the issue's own source); unnumbered advertising leaves are omitted, printed page numbers are kept as page markers. identifier: improvementera1105unse start_page: 341 end_page: 341 rights: status: public-domain basis: US publication 1930 or earlier (published 1908-03) source: https://archive.org/details/improvementera1105unse publication_year: 1908 note: The Internet Archive item metadata carries a blanket "© Copyright by Intellectual Reserve, Inc." notice. The library owner judged it inapplicable because this issue was published in 1908, before 1931; a scan-level notice does not restore copyright. --- # 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.