What We Believe
i

Death

George Herbert (1593–1633)

Death, thou wast once an uncouth hideous thing,
                                        Nothing but bones,
      The sad effect of sadder groans:
Thy mouth was open, but thou couldst not sing.

For we considered thee as at some six
                                        Or ten years hence,
      After the loss of life and sense,
Flesh being turned to dust, and bones to sticks.

We looked on this side of thee, shooting short;
                                        Where we did find
      The shells of fledge souls left behind,
Dry dust, which sheds no tears, but may extort.

But since our Savior’s death did put some blood
                                        Into thy face,
      Thou art grown fair and full of grace,
Much in request, much sought for as a good.

For we do now behold thee gay and glad,
                                        As at Doomsday;
      When souls shall wear their new array,
And all thy bones with beauty shall be clad.

Therefore we can go die as sleep, and trust
                                        Half that we have
      Unto an honest faithful grave;
Making our pillows either down, or dust.

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Contact the Editor: Gregory Edward Reynolds

Editorial address: Dr. Gregory Edward Reynolds,
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Manchester, NH 03104-2522
Telephone: 603-668-3069

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Ordained Servant: May 2013

Officer Training

Also in this issue

Organic Officer Training

Elder Self-Evaluation

A Road of Grief, Part 3: Grieving Well (January 2012)

Sacred Bond: Covenant Theology Explored

Secret Thoughts of Rosaria Butterfield

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