Death, Be Ye Not Proud

Death, be ye not proud
For with your solemn immortal shroud
You steal the very heart and soul
Of one we call part of our whole.

And now he rests in peace at last
The mortal coil has tied up fast
And set the soul's boat
Upon the River of Souls afloat.

And free upon the wind of love
We send him to the brilliant Dove
Lamb, and Light, and Angel too
The joyous Love so true.

So know you now Immortal Hand
You cannot win in Holy Land
For this Soul is His and touched with Grace
Smiled upon by Christ's own face.