  (The Fear of Death Affrights Me.) Shall I too sing, as he sang of old, The tuneful singer beyond the sea, When life’s flame sank and his blood waxed cold, Timor mortis conturbat me. Earth is so fair to look upon, And life so sweet, though there sorrows be, Why welcome the summons to be gone? Timor mortis conturbat me. Wife that I love as the sea the moon, Babes that prattle about my knee; Has heaven itself a dearer boon? Timor mortis conturbat me. Is there heaven at all or only the grave With the lisp of rain in the willow tree, Will the after death give all I crave? Timor mortis conturbat me. Will there be ideals still to follow, And truths, like nymphs my pursuit to flee, Or will the ancient faith prove hollow? Timor mortis conturbat me. Are there golden suns in a golden noon, Are there grey, still dawns on a dewy lea, Are there twilights there, with a crescent moon? Timor mortis conturbat me. Are there aims to spur me and goals to reach, Are there wondrous lands for the eye to see, Is melody there and dulcet speech? Timor mortis conturbat me. Does friend meet friend and love meet love, Greet and converse with sober glee, Or is all new in the courts above? Timor mortis conturbat me. Is heaven like earth on a nobler plan, As in dreams we image it, hopefully, Or does the Spirit forget the Man? Timor mortis conturbat me. Shall I be I when the death-throe’s past, Soul from the flesh set only free, Or in new mould shall I be recast? Timor mortis conturbat me. If heaven be not akin to earth, I shall not be I, if I happy be. If I be not I, what is heaven worth? Timor mortis conturbat me. |
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