Faces Of Death

Death is a kinder rest than this, No dreams to plague the night. In death our thoughts have perished, * As surely as our sight. To live is daily struggle; To die a longer night, Awaiting that sure promised call Into a newer light. An enemy we call it, And enemy it is To those who face the struggle With a will and fire to live. Yet some embrace the inevitable With outstretched open arms And shed the fear that plunges man Into unreasoning alarms. For even as the dark of night Is a friend that brings us rest, That enemy becomes a friend To the weary, timeworn breast- A provision for our suffering, Release for tortured flesh. As winter lulls the land and brings New vigor and new zest, Death becomes the welcome friend In a world as cruel as this. Some enemies are kinder than The friends we may profess.