No, not cold beneath the grasses, Not close-walled within the tomb; Rather, in our Father's mansion, Living, in another room. Living, like the man who loves me, Like my child with cheeks abloom, Out of sight, at desk or schoolbook, Busy, in another room. Nearer than my son whom fortune Beckons where the strange lands loom; Just behind the hanging curtain, Serving, in another room. Shall I doubt my Father's mercy? Shall I think of death as doom, Or the stepping o'er the threshold To a bigger, brighter room? Shall I blame my Father's wisdom? Shall I sit enswathed in gloom, When I know my loves are happy, Waiting in another room? | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A LETTER TO A POLICEMAN IN KANSAS CITY by KENNETH PATCHEN HOOKS AND EYES by KAREN SWENSON CAELICA: 100 by FULKE GREVILLE THE LAST CHRYSANTHEMUM by THOMAS HARDY COMMEMORATION ODE READ AT HARVARD UNIVERSITY by JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL ANIMAL CRACKERS by CHRISTOPHER DARLINGTON MORLEY SINCE THOU ART GONE by HENRY VAUGHAN |