How it untangles every mortal mesh.
We are so selfish about death. We count our grief
Far more than we consider their relief
Whom the great Reaper gathers in the sheaf,
No more to know the seasons’ constant change;
And we forget that it means only life,
Life with all joy, peace, rest, and glory rife,
The victory won, and ended all the strife,
And heaven no longer far away or strange.
Their Lent is over, and their Easter won,