BLACK CAT POEMS
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Is death a blessing or a curse,
An enemy or friend?
A dreamless sleep, or terminus
At life's short journey's end?
Or is the grave a resting place,
Where wearied ones repose,
Mortality's last, calm retreat,
Beyond the reach of woes?
Death rends the veil which separates
Time from eternity,
And opes the door for saints to pass
The grave is but the wardrobe where
Our earthly robes are stor'd,
Till call'd to put them on again,
To go and meet the Lord.
All mortal life must end in death,
But in the final strife,
The dying Christian conquers death,
And wakes to endless life.
For those who fall asleep in Christ,
In glory shall arise,
Arrayed in immortality,
To dwell beyond the skies.
So death to wearied saints must prove
An invitation given,
To leave the miseries of earth,
And share the bliss of heaven.
poems by S. Moore