Beckett: Poetry – No. 2198, When I Die

When I die, memoralise me not,
for what am I but a worm
whom God has graciously called
to pastor for a short term?

Please, grant me this last desire,
which I ask not for the sake of humility, —
for I have no interest in such masquerades, —
but rather I ask with pure authenticity.

For all the little good I’ve done
belong alone to God’s glory.
Praise Him for the life I’ll see
according to His salvation story.

Though I acknowledge I may have blessed a few,
the honour and praise belong to God,
for any good I’ve done comes from Him
since I am only a poor sod.

Still, I invite you to grieve,
but do not forget God’s praise,
for what greater joy is there
to have the life He’ll raise?

If I can hear you as I rest in the Trinity,
do not weep long, for it is a sad sound;
I desire to hear hymns on your lips
for the glory of God to abound.