Death marches across the land like an erratic tornado
Striking here, skipping there, taking two or three, leaving a score;
But always returning for more.
The sound of sorrow wailing in the night, crying in the light,
Of children hushed and scared, of old ones frightened and ill-faired;
Thinking about when they’ll not be spared.
The preacher in dark speaks of the Shepherd and the Valley,
Friends and family ‘round him rally; the rest pause for the moment,
Then, as if nothing happened, resume the pursuit of life.
Something has happened! A life that was here is gone!
Sadness has displaced joy; sorrow has overcome gladness,
The stench of death is not far from each of us.
What kind of creation is this, one always ending so badly?
Can there be ultimate good when Death stalks through the land
Always returning for more?
Death came marching through the land and took another victim.
He wasn’t much to see, “pretty beat up,” they say.
One of several Death took that day.
“Hello Death, have you lost your sting?”
The words detonated in Death’s soul.
As the bell began to toll.
The Voice continued: “I have come to set My people free.”
Rage replaced surprise, out came the scythe,
With a stroke, strong and sure, Death dispatched Life.
“Is there no serum in your sting?” The Voice returned with strength.
Death was shaken to its core,
Never had his weapon failed, before . . .
“O Death, I will be your plagues! O Grave, I will be your destruction!”
The Resurrection and Life gained the victory; and death died;
Opening heaven for all who follow the Way.
When Death comes marching through the land,
Resurrection visits first and after.
“O Death, where is your sting? O Grave, where is your victory?”