No Idle Playing on a Harp

The alluring

Grandeur of death

Bids me live gloriously-unafraid

In the now of the cycle.

Once, near the door

Death opened to admit a soul,

I glimpsed beauty unconceived before;

The burgeoning acres of immortality--

Every seed planted here, blossoming there;

The dream being builded;

A temple with carilloned towers arising,

The living builders singing the retrain,

"Nothing is lost, nothing is ever lost."

I shall welcome the silent restorer.

Unafraid, pass through the shadowed valley

To the blinding radiance awaiting

And accept the challenge--

No idle playing on a harp.