Death, be not proud, though some have called thee/ Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so ;/ For those, whom thou think'st thou dost overthrow,/ Die not, poor Death, nor yet canst thou kill me./ From rest and sleep, which but thy picture[s] be,/ Much pleasure, then from thee much more must flow,/ And soonest our best men with thee do go,/ Rest of their bones, and soul's delivery./ Thou'rt slave to Fate, chance, kings, and desperate men,/ And dost with poison, war, and sickness dwell,/ And poppy, or charms can make us sleep as well,/ And better than thy stroke ; why swell'st thou then ?/ One short sleep past, we wake eternally,/ And Death shall be no more ; Death, thou shalt die.
~Holy Sonnet X, John Donne

Sunday, July 24, 2011

"with your might"

"Go, eat your bread in joy, and drink your wine with a merry heart, for God has already appointed what you do. Let your garments be always white. Let not oil be lacking on your head. Enjoy life with the one whom you love, all the days of your vain life that he has given you under the sun, because that is your portion in life and in your toil at which you toil under the sun. Whatever your hand finds to do, do it with your might, for there is no work or thought or knowledge or wisdom in Sheol, to which you are going."
~Ecclesiastes 9: 7-10
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