Sonnet of the Instruments of Death

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Sonnet of the Instruments of Death

Adorned daggers, ruby-hilted swords;

Huge mortal serpents in gold volumes roll’d;

All-holy poisons in wrought cups of gold;

Unfailing crucifixes of strong cords;

Mortal baptismal waters without fords,

Wherein lie death’s communicants untold⁠—

Which of these instruments blessed and old,

Is meetest for life’s purple-robed lords?

Ye that commune in death’s ciborium,

Of all the vessels in his sacristy

Which will ye choose to make of you a clod⁠—

Sharp swords, bright lightnings, orient opium?⁠—

All these, brave souls, are of one sanctity;

All ways are good whereby ye pass to God.