Poem XXIV

1When my bier moveth on the day of death,Think not my heart is in this world.

2Do not weep for me and cry ‘Woe, woe!’Thou wilt fall in the devil’s snare: that is woe.

3When thou seest my hearse, cry not ‘Parted, parted!’Union and meeting are mine in that hour.

4If thou commit me to the grave, say not ‘Farewell, farewell!’For the grave is a curtain hiding the communion of Paradise.

5After beholding descent, consider resurrection;Why should setting be injurious to the sun and moon?

6To thee it seems a setting, but ’tis a rising;Tho’ the vault seems a prison, ’tis the release of the soul.

7What seed went down into the earth but it grew?Why this doubt of thine as regards the seed of man?