For what is yet more powerful than death
Which steals the life from every living soul?
All creatures born of dust must feel his breath
As sure as spring’s lush blooms meet winter’s snow.
What god of love concedes to this dark reign
That every living thing be born to die—
That all the precious brood the earth shall bring
Must walk this vale of tears with death close by?
What hope-forged cross of promise must we bear,
Not knowing heav’n or hell be destiny?
What fleeting joys must mortal hearts forswear,
To flout foul death and live eternally?
What mighty theorems thrive on proofs so thin
That men brave death to find what heav’n they’re in?

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.