by Edward Young
Death gives her wings her wings to mount above the spheres.
Through chinks, styled organs, dim life peeps at light,
Death bursts th' involving cloud, and all is day;
All eye, all ear, the disembodied power.
Death had feigned evils, Nature shall not fee.
Life, ill substantial, Wisdom cannot shun.
Is not the mighty mind, - that son of Heaven-
By tyrant Life, dethroned, imprisoned, and pained?
By Death enlarged, ennobled, deified?
Death but entombs the body; Life the soul!...
Death is the crown of life. ...
Death wounds to cure: we fall, we rise, we reign!
Spring from our fetters, fasten in the skies.
Where blooming Eden withers in our sight,
Death gives us more that was in Eden lost.
This king of terrors is the prince of peace.
When shall I die to vanity, pain, death?
When shall I die? -When shall I live Forever?
