There is a Grave called Death

Some may think it a barren hope,

and call the Christian a fool who

at the sheer fantastic does grope,

and say, ‘calm, you thing of lunatic;

but so long is a length of rope.’

And, it’s true it’s a kind of kindness

to inform of reality

to the one struck by desire’s blindness;

better is the traveller who knows

the journey is his happiness.

But granting this truth (who knows not?),

I had some saint smilingly greet me

with joyous boast, ‘I’ll show you what,’

and led me to this one sepulchre,

‘that’s where rot’s companion does rot.’

At first I thought it juvenile,

an invalid and baseless joy,

but lingering with him there a while,

I sensed a greater truth approach me,

‘know you not life is but a trial?’

And the saint said, at the trial’s end,

when a soul has endured its course,

what is broken is put to mend,

and for this death is put to dust,

for life is where God does defend.