The King of Terrors.
Written on learning that His Royal Highness Prince Albert had departed to the better land.
Stealthy thy footsteps, silent thy tread,
And fearful thy coming, great King of the Dead:
No! no! that's a title too lofty for thee,
Resistless, remorseless, and dread though ye be.
Thou art King of the Living, insatiate Death;
Thou hast power o'er the pulse, o'er the heart, and the breath;
But that once departed thy tyranny's o'er;
Thou hast kill'd, thou hast conquer'd, thou canst do no more.
Thy master, grim tyrant, the Lord o'er the grave,
Stands anxiously waiting the freed soul to save;
Thou combat'st the body, the soul soars above,
On the firm wings of Faith to the mansions of love;
Forgiveness, and pity, where Jesus, its Friend
Bids it welcome to peace and to joy without end.
Then let us so live that when Death shall appear,
We may bow to his sceptre without any fear.
The tear of pity is a distillation of the soul, and bears a heavenly quality about it.
