Fear of Death

December 20, 2006

For long, my fear was for nothing but death;
I looked my black end in the face.
To my disgrace,
I turned, ignored, and hid, or tried,
But could not hide
My beating pulse, and quick'ning of my breath.

Though the quiet He came to me
And offered kindly, godly hand:
"Ascend, my friend."
And to my soul, enslaved and weak,
Did he softly speak:
"Abide, abide, and I will make you free."

O death, will you approach? Immanuel
Is holding me, arms out-stretched wide,
As I abide
Upon his breast, hands, bloody, clasped...
Short, tortured gasps...
Then silence. "He descended into hell."

The cold, dark silence proves he is a fraud!
Leaving his sons, three days in fear,
He disappeared.
All but one did lie, or hid from men
And from their sin.
But one beloved stayed beside his God.

'O Death, thou wast once an uncouth hideous thing,'
But blood and dust have made thee fair!
Now who will fear
Thy sting? Where is thy victory?
No, thou, with me
Are on the cross, and raised again!

The nutshell dies; And, now alive, awakes
The tender, fresh-born center part;
Just so, my heart.
Bestirred and soft and newly-seeing,
A new-born being
Emerges, blinking, as light that early breaks.

Then I, his pupil, heard the truth, and Hark!
All times seen but go and die,
But seeing eyes
Remain to see each fresh-born time
Fall into line.
Ah! the school of life, like light, dispels the dark!

For I am I, my eye is I! I see
Therefore I am! And what am I?
His apple-eye --
He who lives and loves to revive
Our fleeting lives
'Till, dying, becoming, we come to be.

For he does not his precious pupils leave,
Those black and fresh-born center parts
Within his heart;
But plucks a plank out his own eye
Blood-tears to cry
To vivify and heal by blood and grief.

My breath becalms, as does my beating pulse,
And now my black end I may face,
Thanks to his grace!
For fear has been cast out by love.
A gentle dove
Descends to coo, and woo my fresh-washed soul.

And though his deepest brilliance is concealed
From my weak eyes, I climb each rung
Like those among
The cloud of seers beyond the grave
Who sing his praise
With me, 'till I'm in him revealed.

O Life, who made this dust alive with breath,
Please show me through, from black to black,
Not looking back
But facing you, who are so bright
That I am blind
'Till I, by grace, am joined with you in death.


Glory to God Alone.