Death is the golden key that opens the palace of eternity.
Better to reign in hell than serve in heav'n.
Death ready stands to interpose his dart.
Leaves have their time to fall, And flowers to wither at the north - wind's breath, And stars to set; but all, Thou hast all seasons for thine own, O Death!
Come to the sunset tree! The day is past and gone; The woodman's axe lies free, And the reaper's work is done.
I fled, and cry'd out, Death; Hell trembled at the hideous name, and sigh'd From all her caves, and back resounded, Death.
How gladly would I meet mortality, my sentence, and be earth in sensible! How glad would lay me down, as in my mother's lap! There I should rest, and sleep secure.
A death-like sleep, A gentle wafting to immortal life.
Where all life dies death lives.
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