Death is a road our dearest friends have gone; <br />Why with such leaders, fear to say, "Lead on?" <br />Its gate repels, lest it too soon be tried, <br />But turns in balm on the immortal side. <br />Mothers have passed it: fathers, children; men <br />Whose like we look not to behold again; <br />Women that smiled away their loving breath; <br />Soft is the travelling on the road to death! <br />But guilt has passed it? men not fit to die? <br />O, hush -- for He that made us all is by! <br />Human we're all -- all men, all born of mothers; <br />All our own selves in the worn-out shape of others; <br />Our used, and oh, be sure, not to be ill-used brothers!<br /><br />James Henry Leigh Hunt<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/death-8/
