TELL me no more, I must not fear to die; Ye waste your words; not death, but life I dread: Oh, to be numbered with the tranquil dead! For I am tired; I do but crave to lie Under the turf; only for rest I cry; And yet ye bid me turn my weary head, And on the scroll that hangs beside my bed Read of another life, a home on high. 'Tis strange to think I once had power to cope With those who hate the Christ, and scorn His word; Sore were my wounds; my triumphs, oh, how few! But now, at last, my prayer for sleep is heard: Forgive me, Lord! Thy promises are true, And yet I have not strength enough to hope. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE MOUNTAIN WHIPPOORWILL (A GEORGIA ROMANCE) by STEPHEN VINCENT BENET EXPLICATION OF AN IMAGINARY TEXT by JAMES GALVIN DREAM LIFE by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON CHAMBER MUSIC: 35 by JAMES JOYCE CITIES OF THE PLAIN by EDGAR LEE MASTERS |