e to me
Could any word seem stranger?

"In danger"--of escape from sin
For ever and for ever!
Of entering that most holy place
Where evil entereth never!

"In danger"--of beholding him
Who is my soul's salvation!
Whose promises sustain my soul
In blest anticipation!

"In danger"--of soon shaking off
Earth's last remaining fetter!
And of departing hence to be
"With Christ," which is far better!

It _is_ a solemn thing to die,
To face the king Immortal,
And each forgiven sinner should
Tread softly o'er the portal.

But when we have confessed our sins
To him who can discern them,
And God has given pardon, peace,
Tho' we could ne'er deserve them,

Then, dying is no dangerous thing;
Safe in the Saviour's keeping,
The ransomed soul is gently led
Beyond the reach of weeping.

So tell me with unfaltering voice
When Hope is really dawning;
I should not like to sleep away
My few hours till the morning.

Yet Love will dream and Faith will trust,
(Since he who knows our need is just,)
That somehow, somewhere meet we must.
Alas for him who never sees
The stars shine through his cypress trees!
Who hopeless lays his dead away,
Nor looks to see the breaking day
Across the mournful marbles play;
Who hath not learned in hours of faith
This truth to flesh and sense unknown;
That Life is ever lord of death,
And Love can never lose its own!

--John Greenleaf Whittier.

AFTERWARD

There _is_ no vacant chair. The loving meet--
A group unbroken--smitten, who knows how?
One sitteth silent only, in his usual seat;
We gave him once that freedom. Why not now?

Perhaps he is too weary, and needs rest;
He needed it too often, nor could we
Bestow. God gave it, knowing how to do it best.
Which of us would disturb him? Let him be.

There is no vacant chair. If he will take
The mood to listen mutely, be it done.
By his least mood we crossed, for which the heart must ache,
Plead not nor question! Let him have this one.

Death is a mood of life. It is no whim
By which life's Giver wrecks a broken heart.
Death is life's reticence. Still audible to him,
The hushed voice, happy, speaketh on, apart.

There is no vacant chair. To love is still
To have. Nearer to me