Death be not proud

My church is praying for the family of Leeann, who died of cancer this morning, leaving her husband and two children. We are also praying for Mark, who had liver transplant surgery two weeks ago and is in the intensive care unit in critical condition.

About twenty-five people met tonight in Mark’s home and, with his wife and children, worshiped God and prayed. Oh, the privilege to sing and weep with the people of God. “And so,” Paul says, “we do not lose heart.”

Death be not proud, though some have calléd thee
Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so,
For those whom thou thinkst 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 souls’ 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