{"id":9567,"date":"2023-07-28T01:00:00","date_gmt":"2023-07-28T05:00:00","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.newspaperhistory.com\/?p=9567"},"modified":"2023-07-28T01:00:00","modified_gmt":"2023-07-28T05:00:00","slug":"the-two-mysteries-2","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/desperaudio.com\/newspaperpoetry\/the-two-mysteries-2\/","title":{"rendered":"The Two Mysteries"},"content":{"rendered":"\n<p><em>From <a href=\"https:\/\/chroniclingamerica.loc.gov\/lccn\/sn83016689\/1915-07-28\/ed-1\/seq-14\/\">The Detroit Times, July 28, 1915<\/a>. By Mary Mapes Dodge.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n\n<p>We know not what it is, dear, this sleep so deep and still;<br\/>The folded hands, the awful calm, the cheek so pale and chill;<br\/>The lids that will not lift again, though we may call and call;<br\/>The strange, white solitude of peace that settles over all.<\/p>\n\n\n\n\n<p>We know not what it means, dear, this desolate heart pain;<br\/>This dread to take our daily way, and walk in it again;<br\/>We know not to what other sphere the loved who leave us go,<br\/>Nor why we\u2019re left to wonder still, nor why we do not know.<\/p>\n\n\n\n\n<p>But this we know: our loved and dead, if they should come this day\u2014<br\/>Should come and ask us, \u201cWhat is life?\u201d not one of us could say.<br\/>Life is a mystery as deep as ever death can be;<br\/>Yet, oh, how dear it is to us, this life we live and see!<\/p>\n\n\n\n\n<p>Then might they say\u2014these vanished ones\u2014and blessed is the thought:<br\/>\u201cSo death is sweet to us, beloved; though we may show you naught;<br\/>We may not to the quick reveal the mystery of death.<br\/>Ye can not tell us, if ye would, the mystery of breath.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n\n<p>The child who enters life comes not with knowledge or intent,<br\/>So all who enter death must go as little children sent.<br\/>Nothing is known. But nearing God, what has the soul to dread?<br\/>And as life is to the living, so death is to the dead.<\/p>\n\n\n\n\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"<p>From The Detroit Times, July 28, 1915. By Mary Mapes Dodge. We know not what it is, dear, this sleep so deep and still;The folded hands, the awful calm, the cheek so pale and chill;The lids that will not lift again, though we may call and call;The strange, white solitude of peace that settles over [&hellip;]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[3,14],"tags":[231],"class_list":["post-9567","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-newspapers","category-the-detroit-times","tag-mary-mapes-dodge"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/desperaudio.com\/newspaperpoetry\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/9567","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/desperaudio.com\/newspaperpoetry\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/desperaudio.com\/newspaperpoetry\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/desperaudio.com\/newspaperpoetry\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/desperaudio.com\/newspaperpoetry\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=9567"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/desperaudio.com\/newspaperpoetry\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/9567\/revisions"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/desperaudio.com\/newspaperpoetry\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=9567"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/desperaudio.com\/newspaperpoetry\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=9567"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/desperaudio.com\/newspaperpoetry\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=9567"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}