No Idle Playing on a Harp
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.