No Longer Mourn For Me When I Am Dead
If Death should call, let me go free;
it is only Heaven beckons me.
If I should step beyond the veil
of sight and sound and voice, all is well;
I shall be glad to place my head
beneath the sod with other dead.
My spirit will not linger there
but float on myriad colored air
and dip its wings over twinkling stars
and ride the moon's bright, silver car.
At last my yearning soul will know,
forever ceased its worldly woe.
If Death comes, do not robe in black
as if you want my spirit back;
I would not want your soul to grieve
nor stand here desolate, bereaved.
I shall be glad at last to go;
rejoice with me who wished it so.
It is not a morbid, ghastly thought
but one in Grace and Glory wrought.
For just beyond life's ebbing sea,
beyond earth's pain and agony,
I dimly see the other shore
where I shall live forevermore.
Death shall but serve to chauffeur me
from galaxy to Galaxy.
His fingers do not clutch and tear
the soul from one who does not fear;
that soul is borne up in his arms
in ecstasy, without alarms.
Death will not be my dreaded fate:
He is Heaven's opening gate.
Copyright, 1987, Faye Gibson
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