(A Fear of Heaven)
I laugh at toothless death; I fear it not;
For if the Savior rose so shall His own;
And He arose indeed. So I, blood-bought,
Find with my guilt that all my fear is gone.
Or almost all; one dread no deed removes:
The Holy Thing Isaiah saw I’ll hear
In Jesus’ voice, declaring whom He loves
And just how much; ah, that I greatly fear.
Not that I doubt the name He’ll sing is mine,
Oh no; but when that perfect music comes
And overwhelms my sense like surfeit wine,
Confusing with its gorgeous pipes and drums,
Then I shall cringe as clownish death draws near,
Afraid of ecstasy too great to bear.