by Jessica Powers
Come, death.
Walk in this season of your grim renown.
Come, let me have my bouts with you, knave
who tracked my Master down.
I honor you with shares of all I have.
Break bread with me; be sated at my table.
Snatch your sweet portions of my scanty rest.
Take all that I am able
to give of all that flesh and blood keep bringing
when cosmic bells have set my senses ringing.
Eat your cold way into my self-esteem
till even the deep subtle root has died.
Wrest from my mind the crowns of which I dream.
Take the externals; take the bright inside.
Tear out impatience by the handfuls—so.
Grab, if you can, my pride
and thieve those words that leave me deified.
Come death, my friend, my friend.
I know the good your coming works in me.
Shape me to Christ before my journey's end;
Hack me and hew me till Christ comes to be
my dear identity.
For certainly I know
that in our sharp encounter well I fare.
With you as guest beside me all is gain.
You slay me, death, but then I rise to live
and you yourself are slain.
1905 – 1988
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?
I honor you with shares of all I have.
Break bread with me; be sated at my table.
…
Eat your cold way into my self-esteem
till even the deep subtle root has died.
…
Grab, if you can, my pride
and thieve those words that leave me deified.
One short sleep past, we wake eternally
And death shall be no more; Death, thou shalt die.
For certainly I know
that in our sharp encounter well I fare.
With you as guest beside me all is gain.
You slay me, death, but then I rise to live
and you yourself are slain.