Friday, April 06, 2012

Death, Be not Proud

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.

by John Donne


Allan Bevere said...


I've been out of the loop the past few extended days in surfing the blogosphere. I am sorry to hear of your father's death. My father passed away last June. How good it is to rest our hope on Easter Sunday knowing that God makes good on God's promises.

You are in my prayers.

Ken Schenck said...

Thanks Allan. Sorry to hear about your Dad!