The Dead Are Gone Forever: a Poem

The living know that they must die,

But all the dead unconscious lie;

Their powers of thought and sense are gone,

Alike unknowing and unknown.

Their hatred and their love are lost,

Their envy buried in the dust;

They have no share in all that’s done

Beneath the circuit of the sun.

Then what my thoughts design to do,

My hands must hasten to pursue;

Since no device, nor work is found,

Nor faith, nor hope, beneath the ground.


(Poem from “Drama of the Ages” by W. H. Branson, p. 204; Copyright 1950, 1953, Southern Publishing Association, Nashville, Tennessee)