Man, Death and Their Mutual Friend

An original poem by Helena Noel

Might there be sweeter friend to man than Death?

  For Death, 'tis thee who, patient, holds the door.

Thy bedside watch endures 'til final breath,

  And thine the grasp our trembling hands secure.

A mother mourns the son beyond her reach,

  But thou, O Death, take each in thine embrace

To guard these guests within thy gothic keep,

  And how such saints are gladdened by thy face!

Yet would not all be hellish but for Christ?

  Without Death's King, thy keep? A brackish hole!

Thou wouldst leave all entrapped in lifeless night

  If not for Heaven's Light to grace each soul.

Thou dost indeed most sweetly hold the door,

  Yet thou art gate to He Who's sweet still more.