Death is a road our dearest friends have gone;
Why with such leaders, fear to say, "Lead on?"
Its gate repels, lest it too soon be tried,
But turns in balm on the immortal side.
Mothers have passed it: fathers, children; men
Whose like we look not to behold again;
Women that smiled away their loving breath;
Soft is the travelling on the road to death!
But guilt has passed it? men not fit to die?
O, hush -- for He that made us all is by!
Human we're all -- all men, all born of mothers;
All our own selves in the worn-out shape of others;
Our used, and oh, be sure, not to be ill-used brothers!
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Comments1Wow, this gave me some serious chills. Such a fresh view on death, picturing it as a road journeyed by loved ones. The part about "Mothers have passed it: fathers, children; men" is a really sobering reminder of our mortality, yet somehow it doesn't leave me feeling down - quite the opposite actually, it makes me appreciate life's temporary beauty all the more. And the reminder that we're all human, in "the worn-out shape of others", feels like a call for empathy and understanding. Reall touched by this, didn't expect to be moved so deeply by a poem.