Ashes to Ashes, Dust to Dust.

Is there a Death? The light of day
At eventide shall fade away;
From out the sod's eternal gloom
The flowers, in their season, bloom;
Bud, bloom and fade, and soon the spot
Whereon they flourished knows them not;
Blighted by chill, autumnal frost;
"Ashes to ashes, dust to dust!"

Is there a Death? Pale forms of men
To formless clay resolve again;
Sarcophagus of graven stone,
Nor solitary grave, unknown,
Mausoleum, or funeral urn,
No answer to our cries return;
Nor silent lips disclose their trust;
"Ashes to ashes, dust to dust!"

Is there a Death? All forms of clay
Successively shall pass away;
But, as the joyous days of spring
Witness the glad awakening
Of nature's forces, may not men,
In some due season, rise again?
Then why this calm, inherent trust,
"If ashes to ashes, dust to dust?"

Alfred Castner King

Alfred Castner King was an American poet. He is recognized for his significant contributions to American poetry. Despite battling with blindness, his disability did not deter him from crafting poetry that captivated many readers. King often wrote about nature and personal experiences, reflecting a deep appreciation for the world around him and the nuances of human emotion.

Alfred Castner King

An Answer.

Alfred Castner King, Simple Poetry

Love's Plea.

Alfred Castner King, Simple Poetry

Mother. - Alpha and Omega.

Alfred Castner King, Simple Poetry

Smiles.

Alfred Castner King, Simple Poetry

English

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I Think When I Stand in the Presence of Death.

I think when I stand in the presence of Death,
    How futile is earthy endeavor,
If it be, with the flight of the last labored breath,
    The tongue has been silenced forever.

For no message is flashed from the lustreless eyes,
    When clos-ed so languid and weary,
And no voice from the darkness re-echoes our cries,
    In response to the agonized query!

We gaze at the solemn mysterious shroud
    With a vague and insatiate yearning,
And perceive but the sombre exterior cloud,
    With our vision of no discerning.

Not a whispering sound, not a glimmer of light,
    From that shadowy strand uncertain;
But He who ordained the day and night,
    Framed also Death's silent curtain.

Alfred Castner King

Dying Hymn.

    The hour-glass speeds its final sands,
        In splendor sinks the golden sun,
    So men must yield to death's demands
        When human life its course has run.

    We view the ruins of the past,
        We stand surrounded by decay,
    Our transient hours are speeding fast
        And, e'er we think, have passed away.

    Weep not, nor mourn with idle tear
That hour, inevitable and sure;
    We move, our sojourn finished here,
        To nobler realms which shall endure.

Alfred Castner King

In Mortem Meditare.

DYING THOUGHTS.


As Life's receding sunset fades
    And night descends,
I calmly watch the gathering shades,
As darkness stealthily invades
    And daylight ends.

Earth's span is drawing to its close,
    With every breath;
My pain-racked brain no respite knows,
Yet shrinks it, from the grim repose
    It feels in death.

The curtain falls on Life's last scene,
    The end is neared;
At last I face death's somber screen,
The fleeting joys which intervene
    Have disappeared.

And as a panoramic scroll
    The past unreels;
The mocking past, beyond control,
Though buried, as a parchment roll,
    Its tale reveals.

I stand before the dread, unknown,
    Yet solemn fact;
I see the seeds of foll...

Alfred Castner King

The Unknowable.

O! Sun, resplendent in the smiling morn,
    As thou dost view the wastes of earth and sky,
Canst thou behold the realms of the Unborn,
    Canst thou behold the realms of those who die?
Where dwells the spirit e'er its mortal birth,
        E'er yet it suffereth
The pain and sorrow incident to earth?
        Where after death?
The Sun gave answer, with refulgent glow:
Child of a fleeting hour, thou too must die to know.

Canst tell, thou jeweled canopy of space,
    Bewildering, and boundless to the eyes,
Knowest thou the unborn spirits' dwelling place?
    Knowest thou the distant regions of the skies
Where rest the spirits freed from mundane strife,
        From mortal grief and care?
Knowest thou the secret of the future life?
        Canst thou ...

Alfred Castner King

Death.

1.
Death is here and death is there,
Death is busy everywhere,
All around, within, beneath,
Above is death - and we are death.

2.
Death has set his mark and seal
On all we are and all we feel,
On all we know and all we fear,

...

3.
First our pleasures die - and then
Our hopes, and then our fears - and when
These are dead, the debt is due,
Dust claims dust - and we die too.

4.
All things that we love and cherish,
Like ourselves must fade and perish;
Such is our rude mortal lot -
Love itself would, did they not.

Percy Bysshe Shelley

Dust To Dust

Dust to dust:
Fall and perish love and lust:
Life is one brief autumn day;
Sin and sorrow haunt the way
To the narrow house of clay,
Clutching at the good and just:
Dust to dust.

Dust to dust:
Still we strive and toil and trust,
From the cradle to the grave:
Vainly crying, "Jesus, save!"
Fall the coward and the brave,
Fall the felon and the just:
Dust to dust.

Dust to dust:
Hark, I hear the wintry gust;
Yet the roses bloom to-day,
Blushing to the kiss of May,
While the north winds sigh and say:
"Lo we bring the cruel frost
Dust to dust."

Dust to dust:
Yet we live and love and trust,
Lifting burning brow and eye
To the mountain peaks on high:
From the peaks the ages cry,
Strewing ashes, rime an...

Hanford Lennox Gordon