Saturday, March 22, 2014

My freshly hewn grave

My freshly hewn grave

Death is not for grieving, not to wail and weep.
Toss a rose into my freshly hewn grave.
I journey now to another appointment I must keep.

Assurance from the Masters (and, oh, the price was steep -
bought by breath and the holy blood They gave) -
death is not for grieving, not to wail and weep.

The chasm I have crossed with a lightly vaulting leap;
no prayers required for God my soul to save.
I journey now to another appointment I must keep;

departing with the harvest I labored long to reap,
nearer to the Union my lonely soul does crave,
death is not for grieving, not to wail and weep.

Once again, this world I've left of dreaming sleep -
the wayward King who believes himself a knave;
I journey now to another appointment I must keep.

This grave of mine is shallow; the night is vast and deep.
Trust to God's benevolence and be brave -
death is not for grieving, not to wail and weep.
I journey now to another appointment I must keep.

                             (Unpublished)

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