I find this poem to be a longish and slightly more accomplished version of a Hallmark Cards sympathy card. I'd classify it as a prime example of poetasty; nicely wrought poetasty, but ultimately a bad, bad poem.
And I'd like to point out that I am a deeply committed Christian who believes in anafterlife and a heavenly state where we can be in the presncne of God and all those in the communion of saints who have gone before us. But this piece does nothing to stir me - except stir me to write this comment.
Maybe we need a poem addresed to this theme for out time. (BTW: Dylan Thomas' attempts at dealing with this theme were much better than what Wheatley gives us here.)