Hence, again to quote Browning, whom I love and revere for his great helpfulness:
I would hate that Death bandaged my eyes, and forbore, And bade me creep past.
No! let me taste the whole of it, fare like my peers The heroes of old; Bear the brunt, in a minute pay, glad, life's arrears Of pain, darkness and cold.
I want to meet death in just that spirit; open-eyed, in full possession of my senses, if that be possible, that I may have full cognizance of the experience as I pass through it. But let it come as it may, I want to be ready to meet and greet it.
In many of his poems Walt Whitman fully expresses my conceptions, and Joaquin Miller's many sweet poems reëcho the thoughts that come to me, again and again, as I contemplate the sleep that has no earthly awakening. Take his beautiful _River of Rest_:
A beautiful stream is the River of Rest; The still, wide waters sweep clear and cold, A tall mast crosses a star in the west, A white sail gleams in the west world's gold: It leans to the shore of the River of Rest-- The lily-lined shore of the River of Rest.
The boatman rises, he reaches a hand, He knows you well, he will steer you true, And far, so far, from all ills upon land, From hates, from fates that pursue and pursue; Far over the lily-lined River of Rest-- Dear mystical, magical River of Rest.
A storied, sweet stream is this River of Rest; The souls of all time keep its ultimate shore; And journey you east or journey you west,
Unwilling, or willing, sure-footed or sore, You surely will come to this River of Rest-- This beautiful, beautiful River of Rest.
I go, I know not where, but know I will not die, And know I will be gainer going to that somewhere; For in that hereafter, afar beyond the bended sky, Bread and butter will not figure in the bill of fare, Nor will the soul be judged by what the flesh may wear.
Here is the spirit in which he describes and meets death:
Come forward here to me, ye who have a fear of death, Come down, far down, even to the dark waves' rim, And take my hand, and feel my calm, low breath; How peaceful all! How still and sweet! The sight is dim, And dreamy as a distant sea. And melodies do swim Around us here as afar-off vesper's holy hymn. This is death! With folded hands I wait and welcome him.