When I set my soul to this eulogy
I gazed upon blank pages, so bereft of muse
As I weighed upon words, if by measure
It may lay hold of youth nipped at its apogee.
For he moved freely, in his cold ruse
He fastened that grasp of throes, his pleasure:
O death, where is thy sting?
Relent this! Relent I did cry thee!
Yet you hearkened not to my decree.
Now my words move in strained elegy,
A friend must I immortalize in memory.
I groan upon this pained allegory,
Upon a sigh I must now sing:
O death where is thy sting?
Yet I sorrow not as they who have no hope.
For in the countenance of the Lord I beheld
Immortality; where the foul of death is stayed,
Where faith and love doth meld,
Where sorrows and tears elope.
There, amongst the heavenly host doth she sing:
Now death, where is thy sting?
You are at peace now dear friend.