The Conquest of Death
SIR,—I wonder whether the enclosed sonnet will serve to express the feelings of a good many of your readers on the Fear of Death. It was composed twenty-five years ago while I was walking home at night after attending a dying patient among the Monmotithshire hills and has remained with my papers until I found it last week. It seems appro- priate to the articles you have published recently:—
• , Timor mortis non conturbat me. Even as I gaze uppn this placid moon
So, when I meet him, may I gaze on Death; Nor strive to halt, with feeble fluttering breath, Relentless footfalls that approach too soon. Whether he bursts from sudden clouds displayed Or slowly peers above the peaks of life, God grant that I shall meet him undismayed, At peace and with no bootless clamour rife.
So shall_ I greet him.as a friend that comes To see me to the threshold of his door; Or, is a Prince, who, standing on the shore, Speeds parting guest with flags unfurled and drums.
His boat shall ferry me on his dark tide And he smile peace unto the farther side. His boat shall ferry me on his dark tide And he smile peace unto the farther side.
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