Classic Poem

From out of the mystery cometh to earth
A new child of God through the gateway of birth.

Out into the mystery that lies beyond breath
Goes a new child of God through the gateway of death.

We smile at the birth, at the death toll the bell,
Yet which is the better, who is there can tell?

How oft is the birth to a life full of tears, —
To a path that is rough and o'erclouded by fears!

How often, heart-hungry for love unreturned,
We see the bliss vanish for which we have yearned!

How often the structures we reared with delight,
Our houses of joy, crumble down in a night.

A live sorrow often is harder, we say,
Than the parting from those who are taken away;

And we sigh for the peace of an undisturbed sleep
Where hearts are not broken, and eyes do not weep.

Our birth is a coming — so wise men have said —
From some other land, where they count us as dead,

For it it be true we existed before,
To the old home we died, as we came to this shore.

Did they mourn our departure there, as we to-day
Lament for our dear ones when they go away?

Who knows then that what we call death may not be
But another new birth, through whose gateway we.

Take one more step upward, as ever the bars
Of life's mystic ladder o'ertop the high stars?

Birth and death may be one then: the different view,
Or coming or going, makes us think them two.

And, since life reaches upward and on through all time,
Each death may be birth into some fairer clime.

Since birth and death both then are mysteries deep,
And whether they're waking or going to sleep.

We know not; and whether 'tis better to stay,
Or whether 'tis best to be going away,

Let us trust and be patient: for sure He must know,
From whose Life we come, to whose Life we go.

Birth, death, — which is better no mortal can tell:
Believe that they both then in His hands are well.