Poem December 9, 1939 Issue

There Is No Death

OMA OLNA MARTIN

There is no silver cord to loose,
No golden bowl to break;
Death is a dream of mortal sense,
From which we all must wake;
For God is Life—He knows no death;
And as His children we
Sweet heritage of life are given,
Now and eternally.

Why mourn we then in empty streets?
No house grows dark within
For him who takes the way of Life,
O'ercoming fear and sin.
Then waken, ye who weep, and know
False death can only seem
To bring its fruits of tears and pain
To those of us who dream.

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