Beyond the Bourne

There is a land, I have been told, beyond the bourne of things,
Beyond our woe. There is a host of saints that gladly sings
A timeless music, silently, and all who there have come
Have vanquished sin and conquered death, that they might reach their home.

Arrayed with brightness, all are here to slake their deepest thirst.
That thirst is quenched: yes, even these, of Adam's race accursed,
Who lay so long in longing that remainèd unfulfilled,
Have reached the end that they were made for: Death, at last, is killed.

For Death itself is doomed to die: it was not made to live:
While Death may take away, the power is God's alone to give:
Death thought that he had conquered God; but that he thought in vain:
For Death knew not that Life must live for ever, and must reign.

For Death he shall not conquer us, though he shall come for all,
The beggar in his alleyway, the monarch in his hall;
For we through Christ shall conquer him who our whole being tore,
For Death once overcome, Death's dread dominion is no more.

I pant for waters that the time has not yet come to taste:
Waters for those alone who are humble, loving, meek, and chaste;
For sinners cannot drink from them without augmenting thirst,
For only those who love the truth can drink and not be cursed.

Reality is harsh to those with eyes who do not see.
Reality is merciless! To Be meaneth To Be
Both now and in eternity. You shall not be destroyed:
The choice is yours to make, either be damned or overjoyed.

The deepest longing that exists within the hearts of men
Is longing for the Deepest. Seek it: you shall gain it then.
Who would not travel through the desert, thitherward to wend?
I would not thirst eternally: I would desire mine end.

(21st July, 2010.)