Eternity
When the bending sickle of a silver moon,
Floats with the fleeting moth too soon;
Then let us strum the golden lyre,
With poesy for flames of fire.
Let not the dreadful words of doom,
Fade away the roses bloom;
But pass through sun and candlelight,
To shine on day and the night.
A head that's crowned with rimy frost,
Has found a soul that is lost;
And looking at eternity,
We have two eyes that cannot see.
But as the reaper comes to reap,
Closing eyes in eternal sleep;
To forgive a troubled mind,
Then know that death is always kind.
Copyright © Elizabeth Wesley | Year Posted 2011
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