EUTHANASIA.
We read of a far-away island, so fair,
The death-angel's shadow ne'er darkened aught there;
So its dwellers live on, bowed with age and with care.
The death-angel's shadow ne'er darkened aught there;
So its dwellers live on, bowed with age and with care.
They long to be gone—'neath life's burden they sigh;
They crave but one blessing—they ask but to die,
And they grieve that the Good One their prayer should deny.
They crave but one blessing—they ask but to die,
And they grieve that the Good One their prayer should deny.
A bright vision only that island must prove;
A region where naught but the fancy may rove,
For through no paths like those did e'er human feet move.
A region where naught but the fancy may rove,
For through no paths like those did e'er human feet move.
Yet, we're booked for a journey—the mandate reads so,
How long we may travel One only can know,
But Love points the arrow that biddeth each go.
How long we may travel One only can know,
But Love points the arrow that biddeth each go.
