The Guest

The Guest written by John Drinkwater

Tides, 1917

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 Sometimes I feel that death is very near,
 And, with half-lifted hand,
 Looks in my eyes, and tells me not to fear,
 But walk his friendly land,
 Comrade with him, and wise
 As peace is wise.

 Then, greatly though my heart with pity moves
 For dear imperilled loves,
 I somehow know
 That death is friendly so,
 A comfortable spirit; one who takes
 Long thought for all our sakes.

 I wonder; will he come that friendly way,
 That guest, or roughly in the appointed day?
 And will, when the last drops of life are spilt,
 My soul be torn from me,
 Or, like a ship truly and trimly built,
 Slip quietly to sea?

This work is in the public domain in countries where the copyright term is the author's life plus 70 years or less.