Death Be Not Proud

Painting by Kenneth Rowntree

My mom died this day four years ago.  I miss her with all my heart.  Absent from me, but joyfully present with her God!

Death, be not proud, though some have called thee

Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so;

For those whom thou think'st thou dost overthrow

Die not, poor Death, nor yet canst thou kill me.

From rest and sleep, which but thy pictures 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.

Thou art 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 swell'st thou then?

One short sleep past, we wake eternally

And death shall be no more; Death, thou shalt die.

John Donne

1 Corinthians 15:25-26

For he must reign until he has put all his enemies under his feet. The last enemy to be destroyed is death.