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" There is no Death ! What seems so is transition. This life of mortal breath Is but a suburb of the life elysian. Whose portal we call Death. "
Portrait and Biographical Album of Mahaska County, Iowa: Containing Full ... - Page 302
1887 - 552 pages
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My Village Neighbours: A Tale

G. M. Sterne - 1859 - 302 pages
...earthly damps ; What seems to us but sad funereal tapers, May be heaven's distant lamps. ' ' There is no death, what seems so, is transition ; This life of mortal breath, Is but a suburb of the life elysium, Whose portal we call death." A WEEK afterwards, Florence and I accompanied my father to Sunnybrow...
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ADVENTURES AND ACHIEVEMENTS OF AMERICANS;

HENRY HOWE - 1859 - 748 pages
...Amid these earthly damps What seem to us but dim funereal tapers May be Heaven's distant lamps. There is no Death! what seems so is transition; This life of Mortal breath Is but a suburb of the life elysiau, Whose portal we call Death. She is not dead—the child of our affection— But gone unto...
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Epitaphs, Collected from the Cemeteries of London, Edinburgh, Glasgow ...

Joseph Barlow Robinson - Epitaphs - 1859 - 220 pages
...As you are now so once was I, As I am now so you must be, Therefore prepare to follow me. 25. There is no Death : — what seems so is transition ! This life of mortal breath Is but a suburb to the life Elysian Whose portals — we call Death. 26. He was one Schooled in adversity — he was...
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The baptist Magazine

1859 - 858 pages
...teachings of nature, professed their firm belief in a life beyond death. " There U no death ! W liât seems so is transition. This life of mortal breath Is but a suburb of the life elysian, Whose portal we call Death." Life ever springs from death — life in new forms perhaps, but...
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Gleanings from the Harvest Fields of Literature: A Melange of Excerpta ...

Charles Carroll Bombaugh - Literature - 1860 - 538 pages
...he a brother to the insensible rock And to the sluggish clod. — BRYANT. THE COMMON HERITAGE. There is no death : what seems so is transition : This life of mortal breath Is but a suburb of the life clysian Whoso portal we eall Death. — LONGFELLOW. There is — says the anthor of Euthanasy — no...
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School-room Poetry

S. R. - 1860 - 306 pages
...these earthly damps ; What seem to us but dim funereal tapers May be heaven's distant lamps. THEEE is NO DEATH; what seems so, is transition, This life of mortal breath Is but a suburb of the life Elysian, Whose portals we call death. She is not dead — the child of our affection — But gone into...
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A strong will and a fair tide, Volume 1

G M. Sterne - 1860 - 316 pages
...with young people of her own age and standing in society. CHAPTER XIII. THE MOONLIGHT NIGHT. " There is no death ; what seems so, is transition, This life of mortal breath Is but a suburb of the life Elysian, Whose portal we call death. " Yes, we have Answers oft ; we know not whence ! Echoes from...
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Pearls from the poets: specimens selected, with biogr. notes, by H.W. Dulcken

Henry William Dulcken - 1860 - 230 pages
...damps, What seem to us but sad funereal tapers May be heaven's distant lamps. 30 RESIGNATION. There is no death ! What seems so is transition ; This life of mortal breath Is but a suburb of the life Elysian, Whose portal we call Death. She is not dead — the child of our affection — But gone unto...
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Adventures and Achievements of Americans: A Series of Narratives ...

Henry Howe - United States - 1861 - 844 pages
...Amid these earthly damps What seem to us but dim funereal tapers May be Heaveu's distaut lamps. There is no Death ! what seems so is transition; This life of Mortal breath Is but a suburb of the life elysian, Whose portal we call Death. She is not dead — the child of our affectionBut gone unto that...
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The poetical reader, with notes and questions by A.W. Buchan

Alexander Winton Buchan - 1861 - 128 pages
...these earthly damps, What seem to us but sad funereal tapers, May be heaven's distant lamps. There is no Death! What seems so is transition ; This life of mortal breath Is but a suburb of the life Elysian,t Whose portal we call Death. She is not dead, — the child of our affection, — But gone...
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