Death

My grandfather died on Wednesday and since that time this poem has been on my mind and heart. Now, not the whole poem-just the line "death shall be no more." As I have thought on this line in brief moments I have wanted to read it in its entirety. Today, I had the time to read it. God used it to speak into this time of darkness.

Death, be not proud, though some have called thee
Mighty and dreadful, for though are not so;

I must admit that this week I have felt the sting of death and it felt both mighty and dreadful.


For those, whom thou think'st thou dost overthrow,
Die not, poor Death, nor yet canst thou kill me.

But there is hope. Even though my grandfather died, I will see him again. He is not really dead.

From rest and sleep, which nut Thy picture(s) be,
Much pleasure, then from thee
much more must flow,
And soonest our best men with thee
do go,
Rest of their bones, and soul's
delivery.

So, Raymond Robinson really does go to rest with God. That is the truth. Now, it doesn't make me feel better in the here and now-but I think as time goes on hope will return.

Thou'rt slave to Fate, chance, kings,
and desperate men,
And dost with poison, war, and
sickness dwell,
And poppy, or charms can make us sleep as well,
And better than thy stroke; why
sweell'st thou then?
One short sleep past, we wake
eternally,
And Death shall be no more;
Death, thou shalt die.

Wow, that is hopeful. Death, thou shalt die. One day death's sting will not be felt and the grief that comes along with it will cease. I am REALLY excited about that.