Classic Poem

One day, one day, our lives shall seem
Thin as a brief forgotten dream:
One day, our souls by life opprest,
Shall ask no other boon than rest.

And shall no hope nor longing come,
No memory of our former home,
No yearning for the loved, the dear
Dead lives that are no longer here?

If this be age, and age no more
Recal! the hopes, the fears of yore,
The dear dead mother's accents mild,
The lisping of the little child,

Come, Death, and slay us ere the blood
Run slow, and turn our lives from good;
For only in such memories we
Consent to linger and to be.