Page:Poems, Alan Seeger, 1916.djvu/192

 Within the book of Destiny,

Whose leaves are time, whose cover, space,

The day when you shall cease to be,

The hour, the mode, the place,

Are marked, they say; and you shall not

By taking thought or using wit

Alter that certain fate one jot,

Postpone or conjure it.

Learn to drive fear, then, from your heart.

If you must perish, know, O man,

'Tis an inevitable part

Of the predestined plan.

And, seeing that through the ebon door

Once only you may pass, and meet

Of those that have gone through before

The mighty, the élite

Guard that not bowed nor blanched with fear

You enter, but serene, erect,

As you would wish most to appear

To those you most respect.

So die as though your funeral

Ushered you through the doors that led

Into a stately banquet hall

Where heroes banqueted;

142