Faces Of Death
Death is a kinder rest than this,
No dreams to plague the night.
In death our thoughts have perished, *
As surely as our sight.
To live is daily struggle;
To die a longer night,
Awaiting that sure promised call
Into a newer light.
An enemy we call it,
And enemy it is
To those who face the struggle
With a will and fire to live.
Yet some embrace the inevitable
With outstretched open arms
And shed the fear that plunges man
Into unreasoning alarms.
For even as the dark of night
Is a friend that brings us rest,
That enemy becomes a friend
To the weary, timeworn breast-
A provision for our suffering,
Release for tortured flesh.
As winter lulls the land and brings
New vigor and new zest,
Death becomes the welcome friend
In a world as cruel as this.
Some enemies are kinder than
The friends we may profess.
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