Our birth is nothing but our death begun, As tapers waste the

“Our birth is nothing but our death begun,
As tapers waste the moment they take fire.”
Thus wrote Edward Young, the poet of midnight meditations, whose pen traced the path between life and eternity. In these solemn lines, he speaks of the great paradox that rules all mortal things—that life and death are not enemies, but twins, born of the same breath. From the instant we draw our first gasp of air, we begin the slow, sacred burning of our own existence. Just as a taper, when kindled, begins to waste itself even as it gives light, so too do we consume our days to shine briefly in the vast darkness of time.

To be born, says Young, is to enter not only the realm of life, but also the march toward mortality. Yet there is no cruelty in this truth. For the candle’s worth lies not in how long it burns, but in how brightly. Each of us is a taper set aflame by divine breath. The wax of our years melts with every hour, but the flame—our purpose, our virtue, our love—illuminates the world even as we fade. The poet reminds us that death begins with life, but he also teaches that life, rightly lived, turns death into fulfillment, not loss.

Consider the story of Joan of Arc, that young maiden of France who heard the call of heaven and rose to deliver her people. Her life was but a spark—short, fierce, and luminous. From the moment she answered her divine summons, her death had already begun, for the path of flame cannot lead to safety, only to sacrifice. Yet when the fire consumed her body, it could not extinguish her light. Centuries later, her courage still burns in the hearts of those who remember. She was a taper that wasted itself gloriously, and in her burning, the world was made brighter.

So it is with all great souls. The wise do not flee from the shadow of death, for they know it walks beside them from the cradle. Instead, they make peace with it, and in doing so, learn to live more truly. Every breath we take is both a gift and a debt. Each dawn renews our chance to shape meaning from the melting wax of our time. The fool hides from this truth, but the wise greet it as a reminder that life’s fragility is what gives it beauty. Only through the awareness of ending do we learn the value of beginning.

When Edward Young wrote these words in his Night Thoughts, he was mourning the loss of loved ones. Yet through his grief, he saw not despair but divine order. The same fire that consumes also gives warmth; the same mortality that ends our days makes them precious. Birth and death are not two events but one continuous motion, a cycle as natural as the rising and setting of the sun. We are born into dying, and we die into renewal—this is the rhythm that binds all creation.

Let the heart, then, take courage. Do not curse the wasting of your taper, but use it well. Let your flame be a source of kindness, wisdom, and courage to others. Do not hoard your light in fear of its end, for the candle unlit is but wasted potential. The fire of life was not given to be hidden, but to serve, to shine, to guide. Even as you burn, give meaning to your consuming. For it is better to live briefly and brilliantly than to endure long and cold.

And when the time comes that your light flickers low, let it fade not with fear, but with peace. You will have joined the eternal cycle of flames that have burned before and will burn again. The lesson, dear seeker, is this: life is sacred because it passes. From the moment of birth, we walk hand in hand with death, but it is within our power to make that walk beautiful. So live each day as though your taper burns bright in the service of eternity. Spend your flame in love, in truth, in courage—and though your body may melt away, your light shall never die.