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After Death
nothing is, and nothing, death,
The utmost limit of a
gasp of breath.
Let the ambitious zealot lay aside
His hopes of heaven, whose faith is but his pride;
Let slavish souls lay by their fear
Nor be concerned
which way nor where
After this life they shall be
hurled.
Dead, we become the lumber of the world,
And to that mass of matter shall be swept
Where
things destroyed with things unborn are kept.
Devouring time swallows us whole.
Impartial death
confounds body and soul.
For Hell and the foul fiend
that rules
God's everlasting fiery jails
(Devised
by rogues, dreaded by fools),
With his grim, grisly
dog that keeps the door,
Are senseless stories, idle
tales,
Dreams, whimsey's, and no more.
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