VIA CON DIAS
Emptiness; nothingness, yet a bird in flight,
Bourn on invisible wings of pure delight;
They leave their wasting bodies in the sod,
And rise as Spirits to meet their God!
They have no selves yet consciousness perceived,
Preserves their essence there to be received,
By golden Angels with profiles that are known,
That become their flesh their blood their new formed bone;
For souls as Spirits encompass all those things,
That in our substance like sweet voices sings,
For all that was without the pain and woe,
Is restored as would our fondest thoughts bestow,
For those we love gather with God supreme,
To await the coming of those left behind to dream.