Thursday, February 1, 2018

Why not a death poem?

I wanted to write something cheerful about the organic convention or our sweet grandbabies or the rather warm weather we've been having for this time of year.  However, yesterday Judy didn't make it to her session.  Instead her sister came and told me of Judy's trip to ER and her hospitalization and Judy telling her not to come anymore.

I'm still very grateful that I got to go to the organic convention with my family.  I'm super happy being a grandma AND I almost have the cancer kicked in the rear.  I'm grateful to be stronger and have less pain but not so with Judy.

I've known for awhile that she wasn't going to pull through.  For a few weeks I wasn't sure if I would either.  However, now I'm getting better and she most likely will live with Jesus soon.  How can I think of anything else or ask for prayer for anyone other than Judy and her family?

So, you know me, I find it easiest to express myself through poetry so I searched for a poem about death.  I'm sorry that this isn't a pleasant topic--if one isn't in a close personal relationship with Jesus Christ--God's son.  However if you've lived your life for Jesus, it's a wonderful thing to be able to look forward to living in Heaven with Him FOREVER!!!

If you're not in the mood for this poem, I totally understand.  However, if you love someone who is passing or just passed recently, this poem is for you AND of course for Judy!  I love you, Judy!  I hope you'll greet me when I get up there--whenever that will be.

So I'm sorry to be so morbid tonight.  Please forgive me.  I love you all and I thank you for coming here to read my thoughts.  God bless you all and God bless Judy!

Dawn

Go Down, Death - Poem by James Weldon Johnson

Weep not, weep not,
She is not dead;
She's resting in the bosom of Jesus.
Heart-broken husband--weep no more;
Grief-stricken son--weep no more;
Left-lonesome daughter --weep no more;
She only just gone home.

Day before yesterday morning,
God was looking down from his great, high heaven,
Looking down on all his children,
And his eye fell of Sister Caroline,
Tossing on her bed of pain.
And God's big heart was touched with pity,
With the everlasting pity.

And God sat back on his throne,
And he commanded that tall, bright angel standing at his right hand:
Call me Death!
And that tall, bright angel cried in a voice
That broke like a clap of thunder:
Call Death!--Call Death!
And the echo sounded down the streets of heaven
Till it reached away back to that shadowy place,
Where Death waits with his pale, white horses.

And Death heard the summons,
And he leaped on his fastest horse,
Pale as a sheet in the moonlight.
Up the golden street Death galloped,
And the hooves of his horses struck fire from the gold,
But they didn't make no sound.
Up Death rode to the Great White Throne,
And waited for God's command.

And God said: Go down, Death, go down,
Go down to Savannah, Georgia,
Down in Yamacraw,
And find Sister Caroline.
She's borne the burden and heat of the day,
She's labored long in my vineyard,
And she's tired--
She's weary--
Do down, Death, and bring her to me.

And Death didn't say a word,
But he loosed the reins on his pale, white horse,
And he clamped the spurs to his bloodless sides,
And out and down he rode,
Through heaven's pearly gates,
Past suns and moons and stars;
on Death rode,
Leaving the lightning's flash behind;
Straight down he came.

While we were watching round her bed,
She turned her eyes and looked away,
She saw what we couldn't see;
She saw Old Death.She saw Old Death
Coming like a falling star.
But Death didn't frighten Sister Caroline;
He looked to her like a welcome friend.
And she whispered to us: I'm going home,
And she smiled and closed her eyes.

And Death took her up like a baby,
And she lay in his icy arms,
But she didn't feel no chill.
And death began to ride again--
Up beyond the evening star,
Into the glittering light of glory,
On to the Great White Throne.
And there he laid Sister Caroline
On the loving breast of Jesus.

And Jesus took his own hand and wiped away her tears,
And he smoothed the furrows from her face,
And the angels sang a little song,
And Jesus rocked her in his arms,
And kept a-saying: Take your rest,
Take your rest.

Weep not--weep not,
She is not dead;
She's resting in the bosom of Jesus.

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