Hymn 6
Triumph over death.
Job 19:25-27.
Great God, I own thy sentence just,
And nature must decay;
I yield my body to the dust,
To dwell with fellow clay.
Yet faith may triumph o'er the grave,
And trample on the tombs
My Jesus, my Redeemer, lives;
My God, my Savior, comes.
The mighty Conqueror shall appear
High on a royal seat,
And death, the last of all his foes,
Lie vanquished at his feet.
Though greedy worms devour my skin,
And gnaw my wasting flesh,
When God shall build my bones again,
He clothes them all afresh.
Then shall I see thy lovely face
With strong immortal eyes;
And feast upon thy unknown grace
With pleasure and surprise.
poem by Isaac Watts
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Related quotes
Low in the Grave He Lay
Low in the grave He lay, Jesus my Savior,
Waiting the coming day, Jesus my Lord!
Up from the grave He arose,
With a mighty triumph over His foes,
He arose a Victor from the dark domain,
And He lives forever, with His saints to reign.
He arose! He arose!
Hallelujah! Christ arose!
Vainly they watch His bed, Jesus my Savior;
Vainly they seal the dead, Jesus my Lord!
Up from the grave He arose,
With a mighty triumph over His foes,
He arose a Victor from the dark domain,
And He lives forever, with His saints to reign.
He arose! He arose! Hallelujah! Christ arose!
Death cannot keep its Prey, Jesus my Savior;
He tore the bars away, Jesus my Lord!
Up from the grave He arose,
With a mighty triumph over His foes,
He arose a Victor from the dark domain,
And He lives forever, with His saints to reign.
He arose! He arose!
Hallelujah! Christ arose!
poem by Robert Wadsworth Lowry
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Psalm 49 part 2
v.14,15
C. M.
Death and the resurrection.
Ye sons of pride, that hate the just
And trample on the poor,
When death has brought you down to dust,
Your pomp shall rise no more.
The last great day shall change the scene;
When will that hour appear?
When shall the just revive, and reign
O'er all that scorned them here?
God will my naked soul receive,
When sep'rate from the flesh;
And break the prison of the grave,
To raise my bones afresh.
Heav'n is my everlasting home,
Th' inheritance is sure:
Let men of pride their rage resume,
But I'll repine no more.
poem by Isaac Watts
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
When I Depart
My body now’s only a shell, where my spirit used to dwell,
No longer in this earthly tent, up to Heaven I’ve been sent,
Though on earth I have died, I’m now by my Savior’s side,
No longer in this body friend, to begin life that has no end.
Indeed on earth, I have died, but, now my body’s glorified,
I’ve risen as my Savior said, alive in Heaven far from dead,
While lifeless my body may be, I’ve passed to life eternally,
Now from earth I’ve departed, life with God has just started.
When on this earth I see death, I shall receive eternal breath,
Entering in that heavenly portal, I’ll receive a body immortal,
A new body to begin eternal life, with my Lord, Jesus Christ,
As I enter in that Eternal Door, to be with Christ forevermore.
Death again will see me never, as I will live with God forever,
In a mansion prepared for me, that I now can touch and see,
A place surpassing all my hope, a paradise of eternal scope,
A home granted to me by grace, to sit with God face to face.
Death was just to say goodbye, to meet with God up on high,
Where one day I’ll see you there, in a paradise, without a care,
For one day soon we will reunite, to be forever in God’s Light,
As death won’t stop us friend, from life with God, with no end.
(Copyright ©11/2010)
Psalm 49
The rich sinner's death, and the saint's resurrection.
Why do the proud insult the poor,
And boast the large estates they have?
How vain are riches to secure
Their haughty owners from the grave!
They can't redeem one hour from death,
With all the wealth in which they trust;
Nor give a dying brother breath,
When God commands him down to dust.
There the dark earth and dismal shade
Shall clasp their naked bodies round;
That flesh, so delicately fed,
Lies cold and moulders in the ground.
Like thoughtless sheep the sinner dies,
Laid in the grave for worms to eat:
The saints shall in the morning rise,
And find th' oppressor at their feet.
His honors perish in the dust,
And pomp and beauty, birth and blood:
That glorious day exalts the just
To full dominion o'er the proud.
My Savior shall my life restore,
And raise me from my dark abode;
My flesh and soul shall part no more,
But dwell for ever near my God.
poem by Isaac Watts
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Easter- The Resurrection of Jesus Christ and the death of Death!
Lord Jesus Christ has risen from his grave!
The tomb on third day was an empty cave;
The Savior of mankind has done the feat;
The Evil One Satan has got defeat.
The empty tomb of Jesus Christ is proof:
The tomb-stone rolled aside, away from roof;
Yes, Jesus resurrected as forecast;
The sting of death is now a thing of past.
The second Adam has won over death;
The fear of death needn’t haunt someone on earth;
Death is not end but henceforth beginning
Of Life eternal- mankind’s new meaning.
Jesus, the Light has dispelled all darkness,
That hinders men from Heaven’s happiness;
Jesus, the Way leads all souls to Heaven;
Our Road to Heaven has been made even.
The heart of love infinite won o’er death;
No more can death frighten a soul on earth;
The King of Love has conquered death ‘per se’;
This is the key message of Easter Day.
Our sinless Messiah is alive still,
After his death on cross upon the hill;
God’s only Son is Savior of mankind;
Confess your sins of body and of mind.
Jesus, the Truth has triumphed o’er Satan;
And Hope is born afresh that beckons man;
Children of Adam and of Eve are saved;
The road to Heaven’s glory, Jesus paved.
Denied is Satan of power of death-
Sigh of relief for all souls upon earth;
The gate of Heaven’s wide open to all;
We all can go to God, despite our fall.
Death entered earth through Adam and Eve’s sin;
Christ’s Resurrection is also our win;
The warrior of love has conquered death;
Jesus has brought about the death of Death!
The awesome death is now man’s friendly-foe!
Death puts an end to every strife and woe;
The cruel thief is welcome guest of man;
Man need not fear death in his whole life-span.
Death is the way to Eternity now;
Death is not dreadful as it was once, wow!
Man’s body got back sanctity once lost-
Rejuvenating truth to mankind, vast.
No tomb can hold a man’s body for long;
Death’s silence will be broken by life’s song;
The risen Christ has opened up all tombs-
Even for dead, unborn babies in wombs!
The future of all mankind lies in Christ;
‘Our faith in God’- the flag, we ought to hoist;
Follow the Cross and Heaven’s Gate is nigh,
When we are made too kings by One, most High.
Like Christ, all Christians too can resurrect;
Let’s keep our soul without sinful defect;
The rod for sins has also been absolved;
Redemption of mankind has been resolved.
The holy cross of Christ has paid the price
Of freedom of man’s every sin and vice;
Awaits the Lord with banquet feast for us;
Let us prepare our soul now for this Bliss.
‘Easter- Risen Christ and death of Death! ’
Copyright by Dr John Celes 3-23-2008
poem by John Celes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Today... 'The Finisher of Faith
Ascending into heaven to triumphant applause
the battle was over and the victory was Yours.
Death had now been vanquished and the grave was opened wide
'It is Finished' was the great shout of triumph You cried.
The work is behind You the price for sin had been paid
the sepulchre was empty where Your body once laid.
You had endured the cross and despised its dreadful shame.
The heavens rejoice and Your great victory proclaim.
And there seated at the right hand of God I can see
my Lord Jesus Christ Who has Finished the faith for me.
For my great Author and the Finisher of the faith
won the victory over Satan and now I'm safe.
Despising the shame and enduring Calvary's cross
You came to seek and to save this poor sheep that was lost.
It is finished I hear that great victorious cry
Resounding throughout heaven as the years pass on by
(see also the additional information in the Poet's notes box below)
Psalm 16 part 3
Courage in death, and hope of the resurrection.
When God is nigh, my faith is strong;
His arm is my almighty prop:
Be glad, my heart; rejoice, my tongue;
My dying flesh shall rest in hope.
Though in the dust I lay my head,
Yet, gracious God, thou wilt not leave
My soul for ever with the dead,
Nor lose thy children in the grave.
My flesh shall thy first call obey,
Shake off the dust, and rise on high;
Then shalt thou lead the wondrous way
Up to thy throne above the sky.
There streams of endless pleasure flow;
And full discoveries of thy grace
(Which we but tasted here below)
Spread heav'nly joys through all the place.
poem by Isaac Watts
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Death Alone
There are lone cemeteries,
tombs full of soundless bones,
the heart threading a tunnel,
a dark, dark tunnel :
like a wreck we die to the very core,
as if drowning at the heart
or collapsing inwards from skin to soul.
There are corpses,
clammy slabs for feet,
there is death in the bones,
like a pure sound,
a bark without its dog,
out of certain bells, certain tombs
swelling in this humidity like lament or rain.
I see, when alone at times,
coffins under sail
setting out with the pale dead, women in their dead braids,
bakers as white as angels,
thoughtful girls married to notaries,
coffins ascending the vertical river of the dead,
the wine-dark river to its source,
with their sails swollen with the sound of death,
filled with the silent noise of death.
Death is drawn to sound
like a slipper without a foot, a suit without its wearer,
comes to knock with a ring, stoneless and fingerless,
comes to shout without a mouth, a tongue, without a throat.
Nevertheless its footsteps sound
and its clothes echo, hushed like a tree.
I do not know, I am ignorant, I hardly see
but it seems to me that its song has the colour of wet violets,
violets well used to the earth,
since the face of death is green,
and the gaze of death green
with the etched moisture of a violet's leaf
and its grave colour of exasperated winter.
But death goes about the earth also, riding a broom
lapping the ground in search of the dead -
death is in the broom,
it is the tongue of death looking for the dead,
the needle of death looking for the thread.
Death lies in our beds :
in the lazy mattresses, the black blankets,
lives a full stretch and then suddenly blows,
blows sound unknown filling out the sheets
and there are beds sailing into a harbour
where death is waiting, dressed as an admiral.
poem by Pablo Neruda
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Psalm 97 part 3
Grace and glory.
Th' Almighty reigns exalted high
O'er all the earth, o'er all the sky;
Though clouds and darkness veil his feet,
His dwelling is the mercy-seat.
O ye that love his holy name,
Hate every work of sin and shame;
He guards the souls of all his friends,
And from the snares of hell defends.
Immortal light and joys unknown
Are for the saints in darkness sown
Those glorious seeds shall spring and rise,
And the bright harvest bless our eyes.
Rejoice, ye righteous, and record
The sacred honors of the Lord:
None but the soul that feels his grace
Can triumph in his holiness.
poem by Isaac Watts
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Psalm 69 part 2
v.14-21,26,29,32
C. M.
The passion and exaltation of Christ.
Now let our lips with holy fear
And mournful pleasure sing
The suff'rings of our great High Priest,
The sorrows of our King.
He sinks in floods of deep distress;
How high the waters rise!
While to his heav'nly Father's ear
He sends perpetual cries.
"Hear me, O Lord, and save thy Son,
Nor hide thy shining face;
Why should thy fav'rite look like one
Forsaken of thy grace?
"With rage they persecute the man
That groans beneath thy wound,
While for a sacrifice I pour
My life upon the ground.
"They tread my honor to the dust,
And laugh when I complain;
Their sharp insulting slanders add
Fresh anguish to my pain.
"All my reproach is known to thee,
The scandal and the shame
Reproach has broke my bleeding heart,
And lies defiled my name.
"I looked for pity, but in vain;
My kindred are my grief:
I ask my friends for comfort round,
But meet with no relief.
"With vinegar they mock my thirst,
They give me gall for food;
And sporting with my dying groans,
They triumph in my blood.
"Shine into my distressed soul,
Let thy compassions save;
And though my flesh sink down to death,
Redeem it from the grave.
"I shall arise to praise thy name,
Shall reign in worlds unknown;
And thy salvation, O my God,
Shall seat me on thy throne."
poem by Isaac Watts
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
A Pagan Hymn (Farewell to Jesus)
Tombs of the dead and ancient graves!
Do you really believe that Jesus saves?
Flesh rotting away, bones turned to dust,
And what of the Saviour we all trust?
Ah yes, you say, the spirit lives,
And this is the promise Jesus gives,
We live forever by His grace,
One day we'll see Him face to face!
The maggots had a tasty meal
And what a good thing that we can't feel
Them eating our liver and our brain -
Will Jesus really come again?
To believe in Jesus is all very well
But I've got a surer sense of Hell,
I've lived there now for many years
And shed a lot of fruitless tears.
Christ never saved my wretched soul
But sin and guilt have taken their toll,
Just lay me down and let me sleep,
I've no longer got the strength to weep.
Goodbye, Lord Jesus, give me peace,
Let Your false promises all cease,
Leave me alone, yes let me be,
Not duped by slave morality!
poem by John Thorkild Ellison
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
An Arsenal of Spiritual Dynamite
i come to bow my soul, kneel upon your mighty name, the
light that illuminates my spirit, beyond other power on earth
and in the heaven who brings me to the eternal Father, my
immortal Adonai, the one who is and pre-existed in name,
exalted amongst angels and saints in heaven and in earth
you are my Redeemer; please redeem me, for you are the
fullness of thy body; come bow down my soul, kneel upon
your great altar of mercy. live and leads my sole spirit to
your kingdom, where everything comes to exist and end to
your salvation of peace amongst earthly moulds, oh! my
immortal soul, rejoice thy eternal dimension of saints and
angels
you are my Redeemer; please redeem me, for you are
fullness of the eternal grace, You are my mind, bring me
forth to the fortress, of your heavenly kingdom, my
completeness belongs only to you take me Lord, where you
reign forever, for you are my repose, and give me the perfect
gift that cannot be grasped by any living being in this time
give me Lord, the wisdom to understand, the authority when
i ask; to heal and cleanse my body, through Jesus Christ, the
name above every name and redeemer of my eternal light soul
and spirit, the begotten son of the Father, who is the first born
of the Pleroma of grace
as i invoke, in Jesus name, grant thy humble human heart
to see and anchor my ears in your precious blood, let my faith
and hope lives in your everlasting life, and my spirit be in your
arm; place me, in your beloved elect and thy blessed greatness
of your love, may the psychic God, of the universe, grant me the
wonderful mystery of your heavenly kingdom
may the faith of your humble servant to be in you in all your
greatness and power, and may your glory, praise and wisdom
lives in our souls and spirit forever and ever, Amen
poem by Antonio Liao
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Psalm 9 part 2
v.12
C. M.
The wisdom and equity of Providence.
When the great Judge, supreme and just,
Shall once inquire for blood,
The humble souls that mourn in dust
Shall find a faithful God.
He from the dreadful gates of death
Does his own children raise;
In Zion's gates, with cheerful breath,
They sing their Father's praise.
His foes shall fall, with heedless feet,
Into the pit they made;
And sinners perish in the net
That their own hands had spread.
Thus, by thy judgments, mighty God,
Are thy deep counsels known;
When men of mischief are destroyed,
The snare must be their own.
PAUSE.
The wicked shall sink down to hell;
Thy wrath devour the lands
That dare forget thee, or rebel
Against thy known commands.
Though saints to sore distress are brought,
And wait and long complain,
Their cries shall not be still forgot,
Nor shall their hopes be vain.
[Rise, great Redeemer, from thy seat,
To judge and save the poor;
Let nations tremble at thy feet,
And man prevail no more.
Thy thunder shall affright the proud,
And put their hearts to pain;
Make them confess that thou art God,
And they but feeble men.]
poem by Isaac Watts
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Upon The Image Of Death
Before my face the picture hangs
That daily should put me in mind
Of those cold names and bitter pangs
That shortly I am like to find;
But yet, alas, full little I
Do think hereon that I must die.
I often look upon a face
Most ugly, grisly, bare, and thin;
I often view the hollow place
Where eyes and nose had sometimes been;
I see the bones across that lie,
Yet little think that I must die.
I read the label underneath,
That telleth me whereto I must;
I see the sentence eke that saith
Remember, man, that thou art dust!
But yet, alas, but seldom I
Do think indeed that I must die.
Continually at my bed's head
A hearse doth hang, which doth me tell
That I ere morning may be dead,
Though now I feel myself full well ;
But yet, alas, for all this, I
Have little mind that I must die.
The gown which I do use to wear,
The knife wherewith I cut my meat,
And eke that old and ancient chair
Which is my only usual seat,-
All these do tell me I must die,
And yet my life amend not I.
My ancestors are turned to clay,
And many of my mates are gone;
My youngers daily drop away,
And can I think to 'scape alone?
No, no, I know that I must die,
And yet my life amend not I.
Not Solomon for all his wit,
Nor Samson, though he were so strong,
No king nor person ever yet
Could 'scape but death laid him along;
Wherefore I know that I must die,
And yet my life amend not I.
Though all the East did quake to hear
Of Alexander's dreadful name,
And all the West did likewise fear
To hear of Julius Caesar's fame,
Yet both by death in dust now lie;
Who then can 'scape but he must die?
If none can 'scape death's dreadful dart,
If rich and poor his beck obey,
If strong, if wise, if all do smart,
Then I to 'scape shall have no way.
Oh, grant me grace, O God, that I
My life may mend, sith I must die.
poem by Robert Southwell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Cool Tombs
When Abraham Lincoln was shoveled into the tombs he forgot
the copperheads and the assassin . . . in the dust, in the
cool tombs.
And Ulysses Grant lost all thought of con men and Wall Street,
cash and collateral turned ashes . . . in the dust, in the
cool tombs.
Pocahontas' body, lovely as a poplar, sweet as a red haw in
November or a pawpaw in May, did she wonder? does she
remember? . . . in the dust, in the cool tombs?
Take any streetful of people buying clothes and groceries,
cheering a hero or throwing confetti and blowing tin
horns . . . tell me if the lovers are losers . . . tell me if any
get more than the lovers . . . in the dust . . . in the cool
tombs.
poem by Carl Sandburg
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Triumph—may be of several kinds
455
Triumph—may be of several kinds—
There's Triumph in the Room
When that Old Imperator—Death—
By Faith
poem by Emily Dickinson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
We Hail Thee Now, O Jesus
We hail thee now, O Jesus,
thy presence here we own,
though sight and touch have failed us,
and faith perceives alone;
thy love has veiled thy glory;
and hid thy power divine,
in mercy to our weakness,
beneath an earthly sign.
We hail thee now, O Jesus,
in silence hast thou come,
for all the hosts of heaven
with wonderment are dumb:
so great the condescension,
so marvelous the love,
which for our sakes, O Savior,
have drawn thee from above.
We hail thee now, O Jesus,
for law and type have ceased,
and thou in each Communion
art Sacrifice and Priest;
we make this great memorial
in union, Lord, with thee,
and plead thy death and passion
to cleanse and set us free.
We hail thee now, O Jesus,
for death is drawing near,
and in thy presence only
its terrors disappear;
dwell with us, sweetest Savior,
and guide us through the night,
till shadows end in glory,
and faith be lost in sight.
poem by Frederick George Scott
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Hymn 150
The offices of Christ. From several scriptures.
Join all the glorious names
Of wisdom, love, and power,
That ever mortals knew,
That angels ever bore:
All are too mean to speak his worth,
Too mean to set my Savior forth.
But O what gentle terms,
What condescending ways,
Doth our Redeemer use
To teach his heav'nly grace!
Mine eyes with joy and wonder see
What forms of love he bears for me.
[Arrayed in mortal flesh,
He like an angel stands,
And holds the promises
And pardons in his hands;
Commissioned from his Father's throne
To make his grace to mortals known.]
[Great Prophet of my God,
My tongue would bless thy name;
By thee the joyful news
Of our salvation came:
The joyful news of sins forgiv'n,
Of hell subdued, and peace with heav'n.]
[Be thou my Counsellor,
My Pattern, and my Guide;
And through this desert land
Still keep me near thy side:
O let my feet ne'er run astray,
Nor rove, nor seek the crooked way.]
[I love my Shepherd's voice,
His watchful eyes shall keep
My wand'ring soul among
The thousands of his sheep:
He feeds his flock, he calls their names,
His bosom bears the tender lambs.]
[To this dear Surety's hand
Will I commit my cause;
He answers and fulfils
His Father's broken laws:
Behold my soul at freedom set!
My Surety paid the dreadful debt.]
[Jesus, my great High Priest,
Offered his blood, and died;
My guilty conscience seeks
No sacrifice beside:
His powerful blood did once atone,
And now it pleads before the throne.]
[My Advocate appears
For my defence on high;
The Father bows his ears,
And lays his thunder by:
Not all that hell or sin can say
Shall turn his heart, his love away.]
[My dear Almighty Lord,
My Conqueror and my King!
Thy sceptre and thy sword,
Thy reigning grace I sing:
Thine is the power; behold, I sit
In willing bonds before thy feet.]
[Now let my soul arise,
And tread the tempter down;
My Captain leads me forth
To conquest and a crown:
A feeble saint shall win the day,
Though death and hell obstruct the way.]
Should all the hosts of death,
And powers of hell unknown,
Put their most dreadful forms
Of rage and mischief on,
I shall be safe, for Christ displays
Superior power, and guardian grace.
poem by Isaac Watts
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Hymn 110
Death and immediate glory.
2 Cor. 5:1,5-8.
There is a house not made with hands,
Eternal and on high;
And here my spirit waiting stands,
Till God shall bid it fly.
Shortly this prison of my clay
Must be dissolved and fall;
Then, O my soul! with joy obey
Thy heav'nly Father's call.
'Tis he, by his almighty grace,
That forms thee fit for heav'n;
And, as an earnest of the place,
Has his own Spirit giv'n.
We walk by faith of joys to come,
Faith lives upon his word;
But while the body is our home,
We're absent from the Lord.
'Tis pleasant to believe thy grace,
But we had rather see;
We would be absent from the flesh,
And present, Lord, with thee.
poem by Isaac Watts
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Zikir of Hazrat Azan Peer-VI
This world is but for a day or two,
A fleeting dream, like a garden in bloom.
This beautiful life is a honey trap,
One careless step and you are doomed.
Life offers you an empty plate
Death lies in wait with a fishing net.
With twenty dozen weights and countless parts,
This fishing net, you cannot take apart.
Each fish shall, by its whiskers, be caught
When herded around, all, in a lot.
For whom did I build such a magnificent house
And save pots of silver and gold?
My clothes would rot, in their rusted chests and
Grass‘d grow on my bones.
If my dwelling caves in, I build again
A house that is finer than the one before.
But none can hold, when the bones grow old,
This body would’nt last forevermore.
The walls would crack, the beams would break,
The worms would chew up the pillars.
Who’d keep back The prince of Death,
When cometh He, The Great Leveler.
poem by Syed Ahmed Shah
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!