Sunday, March 11, 2007

Death Be Not Proud

Death, be not proud, though some have called thee
Mighty and dreadful, for thou are not so:
For those who thou think'st thou dost overthrow
Die not, poor Death; nor yet canst thou kill me.
From Rest and Sleep, which but thy picture be,
Much more pleasure than from thee must flow;
And soonest our best men with thee do go---
Rest of their bones and souls' delivery!
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 they 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 (alt.)

Easter

Break the box and shed the nard*;
Stop not now to count the cost;
Hither bring pearl, opal, sard;
Reck not what the poor have lost;
Upon Christ throw all away:
Know ye, this is Easter Day.

Gather gladness from the skies;
Take a lesson from the ground;
Flowers do ope their heavenward eyes
And a Spring-time joy have found;
Earth throws Winter's robes away,
Decks herself for Easter Day.

Seek God's house in happy throng;
Crowded let His table be;
Mingle praises, payer and song,
Singing to the Trinity.
Henceforth let your souls alway
Make each morn an Easter Day.
---Gerard Manley Hopkins

*the woman in the Gospels who anointed Jesus's feet with expensive perfume

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