A Bit of Tennyson

From In Memoriam, XXXI

When Lazarus left his charnel-cave,
And home to Mary’s house return’d,
Was this demanded — if he yearn’d
To hear her weeping by his grave?

“Where wert thou, brother, those four days?”
There lives no record of reply,
Which telling what it is to die
Had surely added praise to praise.

From every house the neighbours met,
The streets were fill’d with joyful sound,
A solemn gladness even crown’d
The purple brows of Olivet.

Behold a man raised up by Christ!
The rest remaineth unreveal’d;
He told it not; or something seal’d
The lips of that Evangelist.

—Alfred Lord Tennyson

Comments

[rebecca]

This is, by the way, one of the reasons I don't believe near-death experiences tell us anything about what it's like to die or what heaven is like. God chose not to reveal it then; why would he choose to reveal it now?

[Kim in On]

This is a great poem. And the picture with it is great.

[sally apokedak]

I was thinking the same thing about people telling us what heaven is like. Someone just told me she was reading 90 Minutes in Heaven and she loved the description of heaven. I have no desire to read it.