Holy Sonnet X--John Donne

This is one of my favorite poems by John Donne, a poet from the late 16th and early 17th centuries. He was a Catholic, but any true believer can relate to this poem about victory over death.

HOLY SONNETS.
X.
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 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. 

       --John Donne

Soli Deo Gloria