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There is a little poem which describes death in a very beautiful way. It tells of an ancient pilgrim, old, worn and spent, who crept down a shadowed vale, with bleak mountains on either side and a dark sky overhead. The pilgrim trod wearily and feebly, with bare feet, along the rugged path. The valley ended at length where a naked rock rose sheer from earth to heaven, as if to bar his way. At length, however, he saw a brazen door on the rock, and tottering toward it, read above its portal, “The Gate of Death.”
“He could not stay his feet that led thereto;
It yielded to his touch, and, passing through,
He came into a world all bright and fair;
Blue were the heavens, and balmy was the air;
And lo! The blood of youth was in his veins,
And he was clad in robes that held no stains
Of his long pilgrimage. Amazed, he turned;
Behold, a golden door behind him burned
In that fair sunlight, and his wondering eyes,
Now lustreful and clear a s those new skies,
Free from the mists of age, of care, of strife,
Above the portals read “The Gate of Life.”
What on one side was the gate of death, on the other side was the gate of life. That is the true interpretation of death to one who believes in Christ. It is not loss but gain. It is not into darkness, but into marvelous light. It is not into silence and stillness, but into life far more real and active.