Classic Poem

As Indian archer in the Western wilds
Oft sends an arrow to the timid deer,
Who, unsuspecting, at the rippling stream
Quaffs the cold water with no thought of fear, —

So Death, with well-filled quiver at his back,
And bow well strung, his barbed missive sends
When least the victim dreams of danger near,
And sips the nectar of swift hours with friends.

At home, abroad, on sea, on land, the cry,
" Come to the Spirit Land! " alike is heard;
Nor youth, nor age, may lightly heed the call,
Howe'er that voice the spirit may have stirred.

Within the halls of legislative fame,
One noble patriot met the conqueror, Death;
That " old man eloquent, " whose utterance true
Expressed content with his expiring breath.

And now within the stately, massive walls
Of that fair structure, Massachusetts' pride!
Beneath that dome, the Tri-mount City's crown,
With sudden summons hath a good man died.

But shall these halls to us be filled with gloom,
Since through them Death may glide, unheard, unseen,
And proveth thus all places, scenes, and times
Are his for reaping, his for triumphing?

Oh, no! the place is hallowed where he treads
Who breaks the bonds which bind a soul to earth.
That terrene spot henceforth is glorified
From whence a spirit had its heavenly birth.

Death in the State House! If an archer he,
Who strikes the unsuspecting with his dart,
Not less a liberator is the power
Which opes the pearly gates to each true heart.

Death in the State House! Let the brave hearts left
To fight the battles still of human life
Be warned by this event to gird anew
Their spirit-armor for the moral strife.

So whether called from earth 'mid home's sweet rest,
Or 'mid the whirl of business or its care,
His coming shall be welcome, who shall lift
The veil which hides the bliss we long to share.