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Each day, Newspaper History presents a poem that appeared in an American Newspaper 108 years ago.

Requiescas in Pace!

From the New York Tribune, November 21, 1914. By Irwin.

When you are dead and buried, friend,
    There’s nothing to delight or grieve you;
You live, you die, and that’s the end,
    Let no religious myth deceive you.

Your goodly wife no more will meet
    You as you wave the evening paper;
Once dead you’ll read no sporting sheet,
    You’ll cut no latest fox-trot caper.

For death destroys your petty “I,”
    You do not know that you’ve existed;
Though folks may pity you, and cry,
    They’ve got their metaphysics twisted.

They weep for you and mourn your fate,
    And prate of all the joys you’re losing;
You’re happy (this they never state),
    In one eternal, dreamless snoozing.

They moan, dissolved in salty tears,
    Their wailing is a mournful riot;
The fools! They quake with noisy fears,
    At least you rest in peace and quiet.


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