Mourn not, my friends, that we are growing old:
A fresher birth brings every new year in.
Years are Christ's napkins to wipe off the sin.
See now, I'll be to you an angel bold!
My plumes are ruffled, and they shake with cold,
Yet with a trumpet-blast I will begin.
-Ah, no; your listening ears not thus I win!
Yet hear, sweet sisters; brothers, be consoled:-
Behind me comes a shining one indeed;
Christ's friend, who from life's cross did take him down,
And set upon his day night's starry crown!
Death, say'st thou? Nay-thine be no caitiff creed!-
A woman-angel! see-in long white gown!
The mother of our youth!-she maketh speed.
Death
George Macdonald
(1)
Poem topics: birth, death, friend, life, mother, night, woman, sweet, white, crown, long, bold, hear, cold, speed, year, mourn, Valentine's Day, shining, thine, Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme
Submit Spanish Translation
Submit German Translation
Submit French Translation
Write your comment about Death poem by George Macdonald
Best Poems of George Macdonald