That I might live a life full of death and die a death full of life, always looking forward to the day I at once see my king’s face.  And might I think about death often:  the death my king, the contuing death of his body through the suffering of the saints, and — one day — my own death.

Must I be carried to the skies

On flowery beds of ease,

While others fought to win the prize,
And sailed through bloody seas?