English poem
O God, it is a terrible thing to die
by David Gray (1836–1888)
O God, it is a terrible thing to die Into the inextinguishable life; To leave this known world with a feeble cry, All its poor jarring and ignoble strife. O that some shadowy spectre would disclose The Future, and the soul’s confineless hunger Satisfy with some knowledge of repose! For here the lust of avarice waxeth stronger, Making life hateful; youth alone is true, Full of a glorious self-forgetfulness: Better to die inhabiting the new Kingdom of faith and promise, and confess, Even in the agony and last eclipse, Some revelation of the Apocalypse!
More by David Gray
- Last Autumn we were four, and travelled far
- Last night, on coughing slightly with sharp pain
- Lying awake at holy eventide
- Now, while the long-delaying ash assumes
- O thou of purer eyes than to behold
- O winter! wilt thou never, never go
- October’s gold is dim--the forests rot
- Oh many a time with Ovid have I borne