And he died, each record ends. Even the longest struggle thus bends— The high—the lowly cannot suspend— This thought, of such an end. 'Tis an end, yet a beginning, my friend, A promise which Christ did defend. So on ill tongues do not depend— Else this beginning in torture will end. This great beginning that has no end, On how we cherish it will all depend. When clothed in the flesh—how we did spend? The record will show in the end. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...STANZAS FOR MUSIC (4) by GEORGE GORDON BYRON THE NUANCES OF MENDACITY by FRANKLIN PIERCE ADAMS THE HAYMAKER'S SONG by ALFRED AUSTIN THE LIFE OF RILEY by BERTON BRALEY THE FAIRY FORT by ABBIE FARWELL BROWN PSYCHE by WILLIAM ALLEN BUTLER IN BAY CHALEUR by HEZEKIAH BUTTERWORTH TO A LADY WHO WORE A LOCK OF HIS HAIR SET WITH DIAMONDS by WILLIAM COWPER |