I once scorned ev’ry fearful thought of death.
When it was but the end of pulse and breath,
But now my eyes have seen that past the pain
There is a world that’s waiting to be claimed.
Earthmaker, Holy, let me now, depart,
For living’s such a temporary art.
And dying is but getting dressed for God.
Our graves are merely doorways cut in sod.
— Calvin Miller
Broken Believers 