Under Christ's good hand

is where I want to be buried

when death comes for me in suited armor.

   His chariot awaits,

but deep beneath the earth

rose two swords fenced up

in Saturn's ray.

   There, a scrimmage was born,

and in confusion, rage grew--

leaving a black horse victorious.

   If so that last petal plummets,

causing me to vanish off the surface of the earth,

do not bargain a casket

because under Christ's good hand

is where I shall be put to rest.