Ode XXIV

When my bier moveth on the day of death,
Think not my heart is in this world.
Do not weep for me and cry ‘Woe, woe!’
Thou wilt fall in the devil’s snare: that is woe.
When thou seest my hearse, cry not ‘Parted, parted!’
Union and meeting are mine in that hour.
If thou commit me to the grave, say not ‘Farewell, farewell!’
For the grave is a curtain hiding the communion of Paradise.
After beholding descent, consider resurrection;
Why should setting be injurious to the sun and moon?
To thee it seems a setting, but ’tis a rising;
Tho’ the vault seems a prison, ’tis the release of the soul.
What seed went down into the earth but it grew?
Why this doubt of thine as regards the seed of man?
.What bucket was lowered but it came out brimful?
Why should the Joseph of the spirit complain of the well?
Shut thy mouth on this side and open it beyond,
For in placeless air will be thy triumphal song.