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THE LENGTH OF DEATH. 211
I thought it was less hard to die,
A straighter road to Thee, With at least a twilight in the sky,
And one narrow arm of sea.
Saviour! what means this breadth of death,
This space before me lying, These deeps where life so lingereth,
This difficulty of dying?
So many turns, abrupt and rude,
Such ever-shifting grounds, Such a strangely peopled solitude,
Such strangely silent sounds?
Another hour! What change of pain
In this last act doth lie! Surely to live life o'er again
Were less prolix than to die.
How carefully Thou walkest, Lord!
Canst Thou have cause to fear? Who is that spirit with the sword ?
Art Thou not Master here ?
Whom are we trying to avoid ?
From whom, Lord ! must we hide ? Oh can the dying be decoyed,
With his Saviour by his side ?