Mortality
“And we shall be changed.”"And we shall be changed.”
Ye dainty mosses, lichens grey,
Pressed each to each in tender fold,
And peacefully thus, day by day,
Returning to their mould;
Brown leaves, that with aerial grace
Slip from your branch like birds a-wing,
Each leaving in the appointed place
Its bud of future spring;—
If we, God’s conscious creatures, knew
But half your faith in our decay,
We should not tremble as we do
When summoned clay to clay.
But with an equal patience sweet
We should put off this mortal gear,
In whatsoe’er new form is meet
Content to reappear.
Knowing each germ of life He gives
Must have in Him its source and rise,
Being that of His being lives
May change, but never dies.
Ye dead leaves, dropping soft and slow,
Ye mosses green and lichens fair,
Go to your graves, as I will go,
For God is also there.
