Fallen Leaves Leaves that blow from autumn trees Prepare the way for winter freeze To chart the paths of moving time A cycle plays out nature's rhyme Though sometimes leaves do fall in spring The sound's an unfamiliar ring New from buds the leaves they form They grow amidst the sun so warm So why do some release their bounds? And tumble gently towards the ground To disconnect from what they know And sacrifice the chance to grow Only god can know these things And why he calls for leaves in spring Perhaps leaves choose to ride the wind To find some place to start again We'll Meet Again Time to go, the light awaits A friendly face by open gates It's not about what's left behind But peace and joy you're soon to find Close your eyes be not afraid Life's not about how long you stayed It's a reflection of the lives you touch To whom you've cared and loved so much The time is short, yet all is done You need not race the setting sun For dawn is near a world anew Is there and is awaiting you The time for tears is long since gone Its time for you to be moving in No need this time for long good-byes We'll meet again just close your eyes The Dance Express your thoughts to me through sound Take my hand and spin me round Journeys cross the ball room floor Like silhouettes from time before To grace the stage of life again And dream of days that might have been The lights come up the stage is set Repayment from a distant debt And so the music plays for me And lifts me up like on a sea Adrift on waves of distant thought

Rehearsing all the steps we're taught You wish to hold the future In context with the past The dreams and sounds before us In you now they are cast Lost Love Tommy P. O'Connell I've made mistakes and its no disgrace, the final page that I can't erase even though I look back on my past, could have loved you more could have made it last Time has changed me I hope you'll see, no one could bring your love to me The fork in the road looks more like a knife, when the cards have been dealt and pains in your life my time has come there ringing the bell, so long my love, goodbye and farewell. When Cardinals Fly Cardinals fly o'er mountain streams Aloft with all my hopes and dreams To see you both off on your own I wish you all the joy I’ve known The walks we took were many But these next steps are few Alone you walk this final path Then turn and leave as two If ever should you need me Just take a walk outside And cast your thoughts upon the winds And watch the cardinals fly Reflections Images now, of way back when Another girl you might have been One in the shadows and one in the light Each casts a glow which is equally bright So much together yet so much apart Where does one end and the other one start I look at you now and so much has changed I wonder how much of it was prearranged There's so much to ask you, so much to say If I just had one minute, one hour, one day No one can know you the way that I do You're part of me, and I’m part of you I wish I could be there, but something’s can't be Just look with your heart and your eyes will soon see

A face in the shadows and a voice you might hear "Remember I love you, my daughter, my dear" In London Dylan Thomas Never until the mankind making Bird beast and flower Fathering and all humbling darkness Tells with silence the last light breaking And the still hour Is come of the sea tumbling in harness And I must enter again the round Zion of the water bead And the synagogue of the ear of corn Shall I let pray the shadow of a sound Or sow my salt seed In the least valley of sackcloth to mourn The majesty and burning of the child's death. I shall not murder The mankind of her going with a grave truth Nor blaspheme down the stations of the breath With any further Elegy of innocence and youth. Deep with the first dead lies London's daughter, Robed in the long friends, The grains beyond age, the dark veins of her mother, Secret by the unmourning water Of the riding Thames. After the first death, there is no other. Do Not Stand by My Grave and Weep Mary Frye Do not stand at my grave and weep, I am not there, I do not sleep. I am a thousand winds that blow. I am the diamond glint on snow. I am the sunlight on ripened grain. I am the gentle autumn rain. When you wake in the morning hush, I am the swift, uplifting rush Of quiet birds in circling flight. I am the soft starlight at night. Do not stand at my grave and weep. I am not there, I do not sleep. (Do not stand at my grave and cry. I am not there, I did not die!) Four Candles for You

Unknown The first candle represents our grief. The pain of losing you is intense. It reminds us of the depth of our love for you. This second candle represents our courage. To confront our sorrow, To comfort each other, To change our lives. This third candle we light in your memory. For the times we laughed, The times we cried, The times we were angry with each other, The silly things you did, The caring and joy you gave us. This fourth candle we light for our love. We light this candle that your light will always shine. As we enter this holiday season and share this night of remembrance with our family and friends. We cherish the special place in our hearts that will always be reserved for you. We thank you for the gift your living brought to each of us. We love you. We remember you. In Memoriam George Santayana With you a part of me hath passed away; For in the peopled forest of my mind A tree made leafless by this wintry wind Shall never don again its green array. Chapel and fireside, country road and bay, Have something of their friendliness resigned; Another, if I would, I could not find, And I am grown much older in a day. But yet I treasure in my memory Your gift of charity, and young hearts ease, And the dear honour of your amity; For these once mine, my life is rich with these. And I scarce know which part may greater be,-- What I keep of you, or you rob from me. Letting Go Heather Marie Covaleski Letting go of everything Everything I knew Surrendering for once and all Is just too hard to do No matter what’s been said and done The pain you put me through

I still remember something else And can’t let go of you I will always hang on I will continue For all of eternity Forever loving you Though time may pass I find myself Trapped within the past Left behind in what once was And all we had amassed Wondering where my love went How you left so fast If only I could have known It would never last I will always hang on I will continue For all of eternity Forever loving you Lingering thoughts of you remain And so I still grieve Hidden pain beneath the mask For none to perceive Moving forward is so hard When I still believe It wasn’t time for us to end Too soon for you to leave I will always hang on I will continue For all of eternity Forever loving you Deaths of Flowers Edith Joy Scovell I would if I could choose Age and die outwards as a tulip does; Not as this iris drawing in, in-coiling Its complex strange taut inflorescence, willing Itself a bud again - though all achieved is No more than a clenched sadness, The tears of gum not flowing. I would choose the tulips reckless way of going; Whose petals answer light, altering by fractions From closed to wide, from one through many perfections, Til wreched, flamboyant, strayed beyond recall, Like flakes of fire they piecemeal fall.

September Jennifer Michael Hecht Tonight there must be people who are getting what they want. I let my oars fall into the water. Good for them. Good for them, getting what they want. The night is so still that I forget to breathe. The dark air is getting colder. Birds are leaving. Tonight there are people getting just what they need. The air is so still that it seems to stop my heart. I remember you in a black and white photograph taken this time of some year. You were leaning against a half-shed tree, standing in the leaves the tree had lost. When I finally exhale it takes forever to be over. Tonight, there are people who are so happy, that they have forgotten to worry about tomorrow. Somewhere, people have entirely forgotten about tomorrow. My hand trails in the water. I should not have dropped those oars. Such a soft wind. A Spiritual Journey by Faye Kilday Life is a spiritual journey from the first day of our birth, Life is a spiritual journey on this beautiful planet called earth. Life is a spiritual journey - we're here to learn all we can, Life is a spiritual journey - a special gift from God to man. Light of Dawn James E. Stanley I light a candle every day, Hoping the pain will fade away, But with the light of each new dawn, Another day and your still gone.

After Five E.E. Cummings after five times the poem of thy remembrance surprises with refrain of unreasoning summer that by responding ways cloaked with renewal my body turns toward thee again for the stars have been finished in the nobler trees and the language of leaves repeats eventual perfection while east deserves of dawn. i lie at length,breathing with shut eyes the sweet earth where thou liest So Proud She Was to Die Emily Dickinson So proud she was to die It made us all ashamed That what we cherished, so unknown To her desire seemed. So satisfied to go Where none of us should be, Immediately, that anguish stooped Almost to jealousy.

I Am Always With You When I am gone, release me, let me go. I have so many things to see and do, You mustn't tie yourself to me with too many tears, But be thankful we had so many good years. I gave you my love, and you can only guess How much you've given me in happiness. I thank you for the love that you have shown, But now it is time I traveled on alone. So grieve for me a while, if grieve you must Then let your grief be comforted by trust That it is only for a while that we must part, So treasure the memories within your heart. I won't be far away for life goes on. And if you need me, call and I will come. Though you can't see or touch me, I will be near And if you listen with your heart, you'll hear All my love around you soft and clear And then, when you come this way alone, I'll greet you with a smile and a "Welcome Home". If Anybody's Friend Be Dead Emily Dickinson If anybody's friend be dead, It 's sharpest of the theme The thinking how they walked alive, At such and such a time. Their costume, of a Sunday, Some manner of the hair, -- A prank nobody knew but them, Lost, in the sepulchre. How warm they were on such a day: You almost feel the date, So short way off it seems; and now, They 're centuries from that. How pleased they were at what you said; You try to touch the smile, And dip your fingers in the frost: When was it, can you tell, You asked the company to tea, Acquaintance, just a few, And chatted close with this grand thing That don't remember you? Past bows and invitations, Past interview, and vow, Past what ourselves can estimate, -- That makes the quick of woe!

If Anybody's Friend Be Dead Walt Whitman The two old, simple problems ever intertwined, Close home, elusive, present, baffled, grappled. By each successive age insoluble, pass'd on, To ours to-day--and we pass on the same. Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night Dylan Thomas Do not go gentle into that good night, Old age should burn and rave at close of day; Rage, rage against the dying of the light. Though wise men at their end know dark is right, Because their words had forked no lightning they Do not go gentle into that good night. Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay, Rage, rage against the dying of the light. Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight, And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way, Do not go gentle into that good night. Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay, Rage, rage against the dying of the light. And you, my father, there on the sad height, Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray. Do not go gentle into that good night. Rage, rage against the dying of the light. The Beyond Ella Wheeler Wilcox It seemeth such a little way to me, Across to that strange country, the Beyond; And yet, not strange, for it has grown to be The home of those of whom I am so fond; They make it seem familiar and most dear, As journeying friends bring distant countries near. And so for me there is no sting to death, And so the grave has lost its victory; It is but crossing with abated breath And white, set face, a little strip of sea, To find the loved ones waiting on the shore, More beautiful, more precious than before.

Ashes Of Life Edna St. Vincent Millay Love has gone and left me and the days are all alike; Eat I must, and sleep I will, – and would that night were here! But ah! – to lie awake and hear the slow hours strike! Would that it were day again! – with twilight near! Love has gone and left me and I don’t know what to do; This or that or what you will is all the same to me; – But all the things that I begin I leave before I’m through, – There’s little use in anything as far as I can see. Love has gone and left me, and the neighbors knock and borrow, And life goes on forever like the gnawing of a mouse, And tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow There’s this little street and this little house. I Wasn't Ready To Let You Go Dollie Wilson I wasn't ready to let you go. Even though I'm told that it was your time. I can't get that through my mind. I wasn't ready to let you go. It wasn't meant to be that way. why did we go out that dreadful day. It wasn't meant to be that way. The scene of the crash plays time and time again through my brain, as I cry in agony over the pain. I reach out and take you by the hand and ask Mom are you okay? You answer I don't think so and slip away. No I scream, this can not be. this can not be happening I cry, I beg you to stay. This can not be happening this way. A careless driver in a hurry. You beat the cancer, got through the worst of the chemo, looking forward to the future, without a worry. A careless driver in a hurry. Suddenly in a flash, the sound of metal scraping, glass breaking. It took a few seconds for your life to end. It took a few seconds for a life time of pain and sorrow to begin. Momma, will the tears ever dry? I ask this as I wipe my eyes. I'm told in time.

But I don't think so. I wasn't ready to let you go. A Different Self Susan Jacoby Most people, though, manage to make their way through the painful stages of grief and eventually regain their emotional balance. What they need desperately are caring friends and relatives who allow them to grieve in their own way, at their own pace and who, above all, will not insist that they act like their “old selves.” For no one who has suffered a terrible loss will ever be her old self again. She may be a different self or even a better self, but she will never regain the identity that was untouched by grief. R.I.P Jessica He was my life He was my soul He was my grandfather who had to go He was ill with no cure Who’s heart gave up and wasn’t sure Why he left me in this world With no one to talk to Not even to hold Now that he’s gone I sit here and cry Waiting for him to say my last goodbye I want him to know I'll be alright That one day I'll be by his side Day by day Year by year I lived it like he were still here With a smile on my face I kiss his picture and put it in place Abide With Me Henry Francis Lyte Abide with me! fast falls the eventide, The darkness deepens; Lord with me abide. When other helpers fail, and comforts flee, Help of the helpless, O abide with me. Swift to its close ebbs out life’s little day; Earth’s joys grow dim, its glories pass away; Change and decay in all around I see: O Thou, who changest not, abide with me.

Not a brief glance I beg, a passing word; But as Thou dwell’st with Thy disciples, Lord, Familiar, condescending, patient, free. Come not to sojourn, but abide with me. Come not in terrors, as the King of kings, But kind and good, with healing in Thy wings, Tears for all woes, a heart for every plea – Come, Friend of sinners, and thus bide with me. Thou on my head in early youth didst smile; And, though rebellious and perverse meanwhile, Thou hast not left me, oft as I left Thee, On to the close, O Lord, abide with me. I need Thy presence every passing hour; What but Thy grace can foil the tempter’s power? Who like Thyself my guide and stay can be? Through cloud and sunshine, Lord, abide with me. I fear no foe, with Thee at hand to bless; Ills have no weight, and tears no bitterness. Where is death’s sting? Where, grave, thy victory? I triumph still, if Thou abide with me. Hold then Thy cross before my closing eyes; Shine through the gloom and point me to the skies. Heaven’s morning breaks, and earth’s vain shadows flee; In life and death, O Lord, abide with me. Youth And Age E. B. White This is what youth must figure out: Girls, love, and living. The having, the not having, The spending and giving, And the melancholy time of not knowing. This is what age must learn about: The ABC of dying. The going, yet not going, The loving and leaving, And the unbearable knowing and knowing.

After I Have Gone Vera Arlett Speak my name softly after I have gone. I loved the quiet things, the flowers and the dew, Field mice; birds homing; and the frost that shone On nursery windows when my years were few; And autumn mists subduing hill and plain And blurring outlines of those older moods That follow, after loss and grief and pain – And last and best, a gentle laugh with friends, All bitterness foregone, and evening near. If we be kind and faithful when day ends, We shall not meet that ragged starveling ‘fear’ As one by one we take the unknown way – Speak my name softly – there’s no more to say – Afternoon In February Henry Wadsworth Longfellow The day is ending, The night is descending; The marsh is frozen, The river dead. Through clouds like ashes The red sun flashes On village windows That glimmer red. The snow recommences; The buried fences Mark no longer The road o’er the plain; While through the meadows, Like fearful shadows, Slowly passes A funeral train. The bell is pealing, And every feeling Within me responds To the dismal knell; Shadows are trailing, My heart is bewailing And tolling within Like a funeral bell.

After The Burial James Russell Lowell Yes, faith is a goodly anchor; When skies are sweet as a psalm, At the bows it lolls so stalwart, In its bluff, broad-shouldered calm. And when over breakers to leeward The tattered surges are hurled, It may keep our head to the tempest, With its grip on the base of the world. But, after the shipwreck, tell me What help in its iron thews, Still true to the broken hawser, Deep down among sea-weed and ooze? In the breaking gulfs of sorrow, When the helpless feet stretch out And find in the deeps of darkness No footing so solid as doubt, Then better one spar of Memory, One broken plank of the Past, That our human heart may cling to, Though hopeless of shore at last! To the spirit its splendid conjectures, To the flesh its sweet despair, Its tears o’er the thin-worn locket With its anguish of deathless hair! Immortal? I feel it and know it, Who doubts it of such as she? But that is the pang’s very secret, – Immortal away from me. There’s a narrow ridge in the graveyard Would scarce stay a child in his race, But to me and my thought it is wider Than the star-sown vague of Space. Your logic, my friend, is perfect, Your moral most drearily true; But, since the earth clashed on her coffin, I keep hearing that, and not you. Console if you will, I can bear it; ’Tis a well-meant alms of breath; But not all the preaching since Adam Has made Death other than Death. It is pagan; but wait till you feel it, – That jar of our earth, that dull shock When the ploughshare of deeper passion Tears down to our primitive rock. Communion in spirit! Forgive me, But I, who am earthly and weak, Would give all my incomes from dream-land For a touch of her hand on my cheek.

That little shoe in the corner, So worn and wrinkled and brown, With its emptiness confutes you, And argues your wisdom down. The Empty Chair Amidst the anger, pain and hate In a lonely corridor I wait To say hello or say goodbye To friends I see now passing by It's not the same I’m just a blur They only speak of me as her I walk these halls both day and night Though just a shadow out of site Time will pass and memories fade You'll soon be gone, but here I stayed A memory of gentler times Of lullabies and nursery rhymes When graduation comes to pass And before you say goodbye to class Don't forget I’m always there So save for me an empty chair Afterwards Thomas Hardy When the Present has latched its postern behind my tremulous stay, And the May month flaps its glad green leaves like wings, Delicate-filmed as new-spun silk, will the neighbors say, ‘He was a man who used to notice such things’? If it be in the dusk when, like an eyelid’s soundless blink, The dewfall-hawk comes crossing the shades to alight Upon the wind-warped upland thorn, a gazer may think, ‘To him this must have been a familiar sight.’ If I pass during some nocturnal blackness, mothy and warm, When the hedgehog travels furtively over the lawn, One may say, ‘He strove that such innocent creatures should come to no harm, But he could do little for them; and now he is gone.’ If, when hearing that I have been stilled at last, they stand at the door, Watching the full-starred heavens that winter sees, Will this thought rise on those who will meet my face no more, ‘He was one who had an eye for such mysteries’? And will any say when my bell of quittance is heard in the gloom, And a crossing breeze cuts a pause in its outrollings, Till they rise again, as they were a new bell’s boom, ‘He hears it not now, but used to notice such things’?

The Gift Did you believe in God before? And what do you think now? This must be part of some great plan But still you wonder how Who steals away a mother young? With child still at her breast And leaves a family wondering As they lay her body rest Look not at this for blaming Rather completion of a task The creation of a child In whose glow now you do bask Joy oft mixes with sorrow In a sometimes painful truth But your lives will be enriched With the light of shining youth All The Things He Loved Frances Gunther My grief, I find, is not desolation or rebellion at universal law or deity. I find grief to be much simpler and sadder… All the things he loved tear at my heart because he is no longer here on earth to enjoy them. All Things Decay And Die Robert Herrick All things decay with time: the forest sees The growth and down-fall of her aged trees; That timber tall, which three-score lustres stood The proud dictator of the state-like wood, I mean the sovereign of all plants, the oak, Droops, dies, and falls without the cleaver’s stroke. Nan Terrie Brushette I lie here every night thinking of you Tears fall from my eyes feeling so blue Why did you leave me all alone You got your wings and off you have flown To a better place of light and love The perfect garden in Gods sky above Where once in a while when I feel low

You will peek in on me and watch me grow Because now I am older I am able to see God didn’t take you away from me He just made you an angel with wings to fly To look after all the children up in the sky You’re the perfect one for the job I’ve wiped my tears, no longer do I sob Now I sit here and think about the days That I sing, talk and shout your praise Never will I forget my lovely dear Nan And no more tears will I shed Because now I know she’s in a better place And I keep her alive in my heart and my head From All Things Will Die Alfred, Lord Tennyson Clearly the blue river chimes in its flowing Under my eye; Warmly and broadly the south winds are blowing Over the sky. One after another the white clouds are fleeting; Every heart this May morning in joyance is beating Full merrily; Yet all things must die. The stream will cease to flow; The wind will cease to blow; The clouds will cease to fleet; The heart will cease to beat; For all things must die. All things must die. Nine times goes the passing bell: Ye merry souls, farewell. The old earth Had a birth, As all men know, Long ago. And the old earth must die. So let the warm winds range, And the blue wave beat the shore; For even and morn Ye will never see Thro’ eternity. All things were born. Ye will come never more, For all things must die.

Always Saying Farewell Adlai Stevenson We are always saying farewell in this world, always standing at the edge of a loss, attempting to retrieve some human meaning from the silence, something which was precious and is gone. You Meant So Much Cassie Mitchell You meant so much to all of us You were special and that's no lie You brightened up the darkest day And the cloudiest sky Your smile alone warmed hearts Your laugh was like music to hear I would give absolutely anything To have you well and standing near Not a second passes When you're not on our minds Your love we will never forget The hurt will ease in time Many tears I have seen and cried They have all poured out like rain I know that you are happy now And no longer in any pain. As You Love Me John Oxenham As you love me, let there be No mourning when I go, No tearful eyes, No hopeless sighs, No woe, – nor even sadness! Indeed I would not have you sad, For I myself shall be full glad, With the high triumphant gladness Of a soul made free Of God’s sweet liberty. No windows darkened; For my own Will be flung wide, as ne’er before, To catch the radiant inpour Of Love that shall in full atone For all the ills that I have done; And the good things left undone; No voices hushed; My own, full-flushed With an immortal hope, will rise

In ecstasies of new-born bliss And joyful melodies. Rather, of your sweet courtesy, Rejoice with me At my soul’s loosing from captivity. Wish me “Bon Voyage!” As you do a friend Whose joyous visit finds its happy end. And bid me both “adieu!” And “au revoir!” Since, though I come no more, I shall be waiting there to greet you, At His Door. And, as the feet of The Bearers tread The ways I trod, Think not of me as dead, But rather – “Happy, thrice happy, he whose course is sped! He has gone home – to God, His Father!” I Reckon Kayla I reckon I miss you and I probably always will this is so hard to get over like swallowing a bitter pill I reckon I shouldn’t be crying because this is not how you’d want it to be knowing you’re in your eternal home now singing with glee I reckon you are looking down on us probably proud of us all you always told me how god would hold me and never let me fall I reckon I have to get through this I must try to be strong on the outside you can’t tell it but on the inside something is very wrong I reckon I’ll be sad for a while but soon I’ll realize I’ll see you one day up there don’t think I stopped missing you don’t think I don’t care we’ve had so many good times tons of laughs as well the memories are all coming back to me now like a wonderful spell gurlie I hope you know you will be missed a lot you were loved by so many you’ll never be forgot!!

At A Child’s Grave Robert G. Ingersoll I know how vain it is to gild a grief with words, and yet I wish to take from every grave its fear. Here in this world, where life and death are equal things, all should be brave enough to meet what all the dead have met… Why should we fear that which will come to all that is? We cannot tell, we do not know, which is the greater blessing – life or death. We do not know whether the grave is the end of this life, or the door of another, or whether the night here is not somewhere else at dawn. Neither can we tell which is the more fortunate – the child dying in its mother’s arms, before its lips have learned to form a word, or he who journeys all the length of life’s uneven road, painfully taking the last slow steps with staff and crutch. Every cradle asks us, “Whence?” and every coffin, “Whither?” The poor barbarian, weeping above his dead, can answer these questions as intelligently as the robed priest of the most authentic creed. No man, standing where the horizon of a life has touched a grave, has any right to prophesy a future filled with pain and tears. It may be that death gives all there is of worth to life. If those we press and strain against our hearts could never die, perhaps that love would wither from the earth. Maybe this common fate treads from out the paths between our hearts the weeds of selfishness and hate, and I would rather live and love where death is king, than have eternal life where love is not. The dead do not suffer. And if they live again, their lives will surely be as good as ours. We have no fear. We are all children of the same mother, and the same fate awaits us all. We, too, have our religion, and it is this: help for the living, hope for the dead. Away James Whitcomb Riley I cannot say and I will not say That she is dead, she is just away, With a cheery smile and a wave of hand She has wandered into an unknown land And left us dreaming how very fair Its needs must be, since she lingers there. And you, oh you, who the wildest yearn From the old time steps and the glad return Think of her faring on, as dear, in the love of there, as the love of here Think of her still the same I say, She is not dead, she is just away.

The Beauty Of Death Part One – The Calling Kahlil Gibran Let me sleep, for my soul is intoxicated with love and Let me rest, for my spirit has had its bounty of days and nights; Light the candles and burn the incense around my bed, and Scatter leaves of jasmine and roses over my body; Embalm my hair with frankincense and sprinkle my feet with perfume, And read what the hand of Death has written on my forehead. Let me rest in the arms of Slumber, for my open eyes are tired; Let the silver-stringed lyre quiver and soothe my spirit; Weave from the harp and lute a veil around my withering heart. Sing of the past as you behold the dawn of hope in my eyes, for Its magic meaning is a soft bed upon which my heart rests. Dry your tears, my friends, and raise your heads as the flowers Raise their crowns to greet the dawn. Look at the bride of Death standing like a column of light Between my bed and the infinite; Hold your breath and listen with me to the beckoning rustle of Her white wings. Come close and bid me farewell; touch my eyes with smiling lips. Let the children grasp my hands with soft and rosy fingers; Let the ages place their veined hands upon my head and bless me; Let the virgins come close and see the shadow of God in my eyes, And hear the echo of His will racing with my breath. Part Two – The Ascending I have passed a mountain peak and my soul is soaring in the Firmament of complete and unbound freedom; I am far, far away, my companions, and the clouds are Hiding the hills from my eyes. The valleys are becoming flooded with an ocean of silence, and the Hands of oblivion are engulfing the roads and the houses; The prairies and fields are disappearing behind a white specter That looks like the spring cloud, yellow as the candlelight And red as the twilight. The songs of the waves and the hymns of the streams Are scattered, and the voices of the throngs reduced to silence; And I can hear naught but the music of Eternity In exact harmony with the spirit’s desires. I am cloaked in full whiteness; I am in comfort; I am in peace. Part Three – The Remains Unwrap me from this white linen shroud and clothe me With leaves of jasmine and lilies; Take my body from the ivory casket and let it rest Upon pillows of orange blossoms.

Lament me not, but sing songs of youth and joy; Shed not tears upon me, but sing of harvest and the winepress; Utter no sigh of agony, but draw upon my face with your Finger the symbol of Love and Joy. Disturb not the air’s tranquility with chanting and requiems, But let your hearts sing with me the song of Eternal Life; Mourn me not with apparel of black, But dress in color and rejoice with me; Talk not of my departure with sighs in your hearts; close Your eyes and you will see me with you forevermore. Place me upon clusters of leaves and Carry me upon your friendly shoulders and Walk slowly to the deserted forest. Take me not to the crowded burying ground lest my slumber Be disrupted by the rattling of bones and skulls. Carry me to the cypress woods and dig my grave where violets And poppies grow not in the other’s shadow; Let my grave be deep so that the flood will not Carry my bones to the open valley; Let my grave be wide, so that the twilight shadows Will come and sit by me. Take from me all earthly raiment and place me deep in my Mother Earth; and place me with care upon my mother’s breast. Cover me with soft earth, and let each handful be mixed With seeds of jasmine, lilies and myrtle; and when they Grow above me, and thrive on my body’s element they will Breathe the fragrance of my heart into space; And reveal even to the sun the secret of my peace; And sail with the breeze and comfort the wayfarer. Leave me then, friends – leave me and depart on mute feet, As the silence walks in the deserted valley; Leave me to God and disperse yourselves slowly, as the almond And apple blossoms disperse under the vibration of Nisan’s breeze. Go back to the joy of your dwellings and you will find there That which Death cannot remove from you and me. Leave with peace, for what you see here is far away in meaning From the earthly world. Leave me. Daddy's Little Girl Punkin If I had my life to do over, I'd have chosen you to be my dad once more. Even if it meant losing you again, It's worth all the tears in the world. You were my sunshine when skies were gray. I loved you and honored you; You took all my tears away. I was happy to be with you,

Proud to be your little girl. Sometimes we would argue, But to me you meant the world. Your love was always pure; You treated me as your own. Your time seemed all too short and I feel so alone. What can I take from this? My heart is completely crushed. But nothing loved is ever lost - And you are loved so much. Bereavement Michael Shepherd What is it, when we mourn and grieve and cry For those we loved, and love – now passed away – That gives our pain such brute totality; So vital, that we almost love that pain (Our faces sometimes radiant in grief…), Unwilling to let go pain’s absolute, Since there hides knowledge deeper than belief Of that sole absolute itself, the root Of all our being, oneness that we share With those with whom we sought our selves to prove? That pain, which barely differs from a prayer To know – by suffering deepest hurt of love: Yes! Let us dive into that holy deep Of total grief and love: then, can self weep? Be Still My Soul Katharina Amalia von Schlegel Be still, my soul: the Lord is on thy side. Bear patiently the cross of grief or pain. Leave to thy God to order and provide; In every change, He faithful will remain. Be still, my soul: thy best, thy heavenly Friend Through thorny ways leads to a joyful end. Be still, my soul: thy God doth undertake To guide the future, as He has the past. Thy hope, thy confidence let nothing shake; All now mysterious shall be bright at last. Be still, my soul: the waves and winds still know His voice who ruled them while He dwelt below. Be still, my soul: when dearest friends depart, And all is darkened in the vale of tears, Then shalt thou better know His love, His heart, Who comes to soothe thy sorrow and thy fears. Be still, my soul: thy Jesus can repay, From His own fullness, all He takes away. Be still, my soul: the hour is hastening on

When we shall be forever with the Lord. When disappointment, grief and fear are gone, Sorrow forgot, love’s purest joys restored. Be still, my soul: when change and tears are past All safe and blessed we shall meet at last. Be still, my soul: begin the song of praise On earth, believing, to Thy Lord on high; Acknowledge Him in all thy words and ways, So shall He view thee with a well pleased eye. Be still, my soul: the Sun of life divine Through passing clouds shall but more brightly shine. Be Swift To Love Henri Frédéric Amiel Life is short and we have never too much time for gladdening the hearts of those who are traveling the dark journey with us. Oh, be swift to love, make haste to be kind! Borrowed Hope Eloise Cole Lend me your hope for a while, I seem to have mislaid mine. Lost and hopeless feelings accompany me daily. Pain and confusion are my companions. I know not where to turn. Looking ahead to the future times Does not bring forth images of renewed hope. I see mirthless times, pain-filled days, and more tragedy. Lend me your hope for a while, I seem to have mislaid mine. Hold my hand and hug me, Listen to all my ramblings. I need to unleash the pain and let it tumble out. Recovery seems so far and distant, The road to healing, a long and lonely one. Stand by me. Offer me your presence, Your ears and your love. Acknowledge my pain, it is so real and ever present. I am overwhelmed with sad and conflicting thoughts. Lend me your hope for a while. A time will come when I will heal, And I will lend my renewed hope to others. Break, Break, Break Alfred, Lord Tennyson Break, break, break, On thy cold gray stones, O Sea!

And I would that my tongue could utter The thoughts that arise in me. O, well for the fisherman’s boy, That he shouts with his sister at play! O, well for the sailor lad, That he sings in his boat on the bay! And the stately ships go on To their haven under the hill; But O for the touch of a vanish’d hand, And the sound of a voice that is still! Break, break, break At the foot of thy crags, O Sea! But the tender grace of a day that is dead Will never come back to me. Brief Our Days Kenneth Patton Brief our days, but long for singing, When to sing is made our call. For a million stars now flinging Light upon this earthly ball. In a setting of what splendor Are we given chance to render Tribute for the whirling sky Where we live and where we die. The Bustle In A House Emily Dickinson The bustle in a house The morning after death Is solemnest of industries Enacted upon earth. The sweeping up the heart And putting love away We shall not want to use again Until eternity. But Not Forgotten Dorothy Parker I think no matter where you stray, That I shall go with you a way. Though you may wander sweeter lands, You will not forget my hands, Nor yet the way I held my head Nor the tremulous things I said. You will still see me, small and white And smiling, in the secret night, And feel my arms about you when

The day comes fluttering back again. I think, no matter where you be, You’ll hold me in your memory And keep my image there without me, By telling later loves about me. The Cactus Laurence Hope (Adela Florence Nicolson) The scarlet flower, with never a sister leaf, Stemless, springs from the edge of the cactus thorn: Thus from the ragged wounds of desperate grief A beautiful thought, perfect and pure, is born. Death Is Nothing New Skylor Mitchell To me death is nothing new, It can come with light speed and without a clue To some people it comes quickly and painless For others it comes slowly with soreness As I have said, to me death is nothing new, My father died when I was just a few The doctors said death just happened to him How old was he? Just twenty-five then Again as I have said to me death is nothing new, My great grand-ma and grand both died before I was a decade To everyone in the family the death seemed like a motorcade Oh how I miss all that they did for me and my grand-ma To me death is nothing new, My step grand parents went askew Grand-ma Vera and Grand-pa John They are now gone as with my step dad As I have said, to me death is nothing new, Oh my step dad. To me it seemed like he would never go But luckily it slow Again as I have said to me death is nothing new, It can come with light speed and without a clue To some people it comes quickly and painless For others it comes slowly with soreness. Chalice Lighting Gordon B. McKeeman “Let there be light!“ Let it shine in dark places, in moments of pain, in times of grief, in the darkness of hatred, violence,

oppression, where there is discouragement and despair. Wherever darkness is to be put to flight, “Let there be light!” Clean Is The Autumn Wind Li Po Clean is the autumn wind, Splendid the autumn moon, The blown leaves are heaped and scattered, The ice-cold raven starts from its roost. Dreaming of you – when shall I see you again? On this night sorrow fills my heart. The Clock Of Life Robert H. Smith The clock of life is wound but once And no man has the power, To tell just when the hands will stop At late or early hour. The present only is our own, So live, love, toil with a will, Place no faith in “Tomorrow,” For the Clock may then be still. A Common Destiny David Eaton All living substance, all substance of energy, being, and purpose, are united and share the same destiny. All people, those we love and those we know not of, are united and share the same destiny. Birth-to-death we share this unity with the sun, earth, our brothers and sisters, strangers, flowers of the field, snowflakes, volcanoes and moon beams. Birth – Life – Death Unknown – Known – Unknown. May we have the faith to accept this wonderful mystery and build upon its everlasting truth. The Cost

Dorothy N. Monroe (dates unknown) Death is not too high a price to pay for having lived. Mountains never die, nor do the seas or rocks or endless sky. Through countless centuries of time, they stay eternal, deathless. Yet they never live! If choice there were, I would not hesitate to choose mortality. Whatever Fate demanded in return for life I’d give, for, never to have seen the fertile plains nor heard the winds nor felt the warm sun on sands beside the salty sea, nor touched the hands of those I love – without these, all the gains of timelessness would not be worth one day of living and of loving; come what may. Crossing The Bar Alfred, Lord Tennyson Sunset and evening star, And one clear call for me! And may there be no moaning of the bar, When I put out to sea. But such a tide as moving seems asleep, Too full for sound and foam, When that which drew from out the boundless deep Turns again home. Twilight and evening bell, And after that the dark! And may there be no sadness of farewell, When I embark; For tho’ from out our bourne of Time and Place The flood may bear me far, I hope to see my Pilot face to face When I have crost the bar. Goodbye, My Brother Lisa My brother Greg an awesome guy, I don't know why you had to die. You were so cute as a little boy, You smiled at us and brought us joy. Even though we had our little fights, Over silly things like phone lines and wiring lights, I never wanted to be a pest, I needed your skills, cause you're the best. I'm glad those times, were only a few, It was hard for me to argue with you, But that's just me, as you are you, And in the end you always came through.

This is Lanesville where you are from, We all are here with Deb and Mom, Our hearts are broken, as you know, We really can't bear to let you go. Sometimes you were so crazy and loony, Especially with the friends who call you "Cooney", I know that everyone here will agree with me, That the Lanesville Crew is the best there could ever be. We wish so much that you were here, Or just down "The Cove" havin' a beer. It's happy thoughts that will get us through, Like all the fun we shared with you. And now my poem will come to an end, Until the day we meet again, I pray that you are now at peace. Goodbye Greg With Love From Lis From Cymbeline William Shakespeare Act IV, Scene II Fear no more the heat o’ th’ sun, Nor the furious winter’s rages; Thou thy worldly task hast done, Home art gone, and ta’en thy wages: Golden lads and girls all must, As chimney-sweepers, come to dust. The Day Thou Gavest, Lord, Is Ended John Ellerton The day Thou gavest, Lord, is ended, The darkness falls at Thy behest; To Thee our morning hymns ascended, Thy praise shall sanctify our rest. We thank Thee that thy Church, unsleeping While earth rolls onward into light, Through all the world her watch is keeping And rests not now by day nor night. As o’er each continent and island The dawn leads on another day, The voice of prayer is never silent, Nor dies the strain of praise away. The sun that bids us rest is waking Our brethren ’neath the western sky, And hour by hour fresh lips are making Thy wondrous doings heard on high. So be it, Lord; Thy throne shall never, Like earth’s proud empires, pass away; Thy kingdom stands, and grows for ever, Till all Thy creatures own Thy sway.

From All Lovely Things Conrad Aiken All lovely things will have an ending, All lovely things will fade and die. The Dead Charles Heavysege How great unto the living seem the dead! How sacred, solemn; how heroic grown; How vast and vague, as they obscurely tread The shadowy confines of the dim unknown! – For they have met the monster that we dread, Have learned the secret not to mortal shown. E’en as gigantic shadows on the wall The spirit of the daunted child amaze, So on us thoughts of the departed fall, And with phantasma fill our gloomy gaze. Awe and deep wonder lend the living lines, And hope and ecstasy the borrowed beams; While fitful fancy the full form divines, And all is what imagination dreams. Dear Lovely Death Langston Hughes Dear lovely Death, That taketh all things under wing – Never to kill – Only to change Into some other thing This suffering flesh To make it either more or less, But not again the same – Dear lovely Death, Change is thy other name. Death, Be Not Proud John Donne Death, be not proud, though some have called thee Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so, For those whom thou think’st thou dost overthrow Die not, poor Death, nor yet canst thou kill me. From rest and sleep, which but thy pictures be, Much pleasure, then, from thee much more must flow, And soonest our best men with thee do go, Rest of their bones, and souls’ delivery.

Thou art slave to Fate, Chance, kings, and desperate men, And dost with poison, war and sickness dwell, And poppy or charms can make us sleep as well And better than thy stroke. Why swell’st thou then? One short sleep past, we wake eternally, And Death shall be no more: Death, thou shalt die. Death Cannot Destroy Love Charles H. Brent Of course no one can help the suffering which comes in bereavement. Indeed, who would escape it if he could? It is the one means left to us by which to declare the reality and depth of our love for the one taken. Were there no pain it would mean there had been no love or too little love. Go on unanimously with the glad knowledge that you and yours are tied by a bond against which death is as powerless as a cloud to extinguish the sun or a hammer to destroy a moonbeam. Death Can Show Us The Way Elisabeth Kübler-Ross Death can show us the way, for when we know and understand completely that our time on this earth is limited, and that we have no way of knowing when it will be over, then we must live each day as if it were the only one we had. Death Has Taken Thee Too Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Death has taken thee too, and thou hast the dew of thy youth. He has placed thee on his bosom, and his stern countenance wears a smile. The far country toward which we journey seems nearer to us, and the way less dark, for thou hast gone before, passing so quietly to thy rest, that day itself dies not more calmly. Death, In Itself, Is Nothing John Dryden (1631-1700) Death, in itself, is nothing; but we fear, To be we know not what, we know not where. Death Is A Challenge Leo Buscaglia Death is a challenge. It tells us not to waste time... It tells us to tell each other right now that we love each other. Death Is But An Intermission

Seneca Death, of which we so much fear, and from which we shrink, is but an intermission of life, and not its destruction. Death Is Nothing At All Henry Scott Holland Death is nothing at all. It does not count. I have only slipped away into the next room. Nothing has happened. Everything remains exactly as it was. I am I, and you are you,and the old life that we lived so fondly together is untouched, unchanged. Whatever we were to each other, that we are still. Call me by the old familiar name. Speak of me in the easy way which you always used. Put no difference into your tone. Wear no forced air of solemnity or sorrow. Laugh as we always laughed at the little jokes that we enjoyed together. Play, smile, think of me, pray for me. Let my name be ever the household word that it always was. Let it be spoken without an effort, without the ghost of a shadow upon it. Life means all that it ever meant. It is the same as it ever was. There is absolute and unbroken continuity… Why should I be out of mind because I am out of sight? I am but waiting for you, for an interval, somewhere very near, just round the corner. All is well. Nothing is past; nothing is lost. One brief moment and all will be as it was before – only better, infinitely happier and forever – we will all be one together in Christ. Death Stands Above Me Walter Savage Landor Death stands above me, whispering low I know not what into my ear; Of his strange language all I know Is, there is not a word of fear. Death This Year John Holmes Death this year has taken men Whose kind we shall not see again. Pride and skill and friendliness, Wrath and wisdom and delight, Are shining still, but shining less, And clouded to the common sight. Time will show them clear again. Time will give us other men With names to write in burning gold When they are great and we are old, But these were royal-hearted, rare. Memory keeps with loving care Deeds they did and tales they told.

But living men are hard to spare. Desiderata Max Ehrmann Go placidly amid the noise and haste, and remember what peace there may be in silence. As far as possible without surrender be on good terms with all persons. Speak your truth quietly and clearly; and listen to others, even the dull and the ignorant; they too have their story. Avoid loud and aggressive persons, they are vexations to the spirit. If you compare yourself with others, you may become vain and bitter; for always there will be greater and lesser persons than yourself. Enjoy your achievements as well as your plans. Keep interested in your own career, however humble; it is a real possession in the changing fortunes of time. Exercise caution in your business affairs; for the world is fullof trickery. But let this not blind you to what virtue there is: many persons strive for high ideals, and everywhere life is full of heroism. Be yourself; especially, do not feign affection. Neither be cynical about love; for in the face of all aridity and disenchantment it is as perennial as the grass. Take kindly the counsel of the years, gracefully surrendering the things of youth. Nurture strength of spirit to shield you in sudden misfortune. But do not distress yourself with dark imaginings. Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness. Beyond a wholesome discipline, be gentle with yourself. You are a child of the universe, no less than the trees and the stars; you have a right to be here. And whether or not it is clear to you, no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should. Therefore be at peace with God, whatever you conceive Him to be, and whatever your labours and aspirations, in the noisy confusion of life keep peace with your soul. With all its sham, drudgery, and broken dreams, it is still a beautiful world. Be cheerful. Strive to be happy. Dirge Without Music Edna St. Vincent Millay I am not resigned to the shutting away of loving hearts in the hard ground. So it is, and so it will be, for so it has been, time out of mind: Into the darkness they go, the wise and the lovely. Crowned With lilies and with laurel they go, but I am not resigned. Lovers and thinkers, into the earth with you. Be one with the dull, the indiscriminate dust. A fragment of what you felt, of what you knew, A formula, a phrase remains, but the best is lost. The answers quick and keen, the honest look, the laughter, the love, They are gone. They are gone to feed the roses. Elegant and curled Is the blossom. Fragrant is the blossom. I know. But I do not approve.

More precious was the light in your eyes than all the roses in the world. Down, down, down into the darkness of the grave Gently they go, the beautiful, the tender, the kind; Quietly they go, the intelligent, the witty, the brave. I know. But I do not approve. And I am not resigned. The Divine Weaver Author unknown A man’s life is laid in a loom of time To a pattern he does not see. While the Weaver works and the shuttles fly Till the end of eternity. Some shuttles are filled with silver thread, And some with threads of gold; While often but the darker hue Is all that they may hold. But the weaver watches with skilful eye Each shuttle fly to and fro, And sees the pattern so deftly wrought As the loom works sure and slow. God surely planned that pattern Each thread – the dark and the fair – Was chosen by his master skill And placed in the web with care. He only knows the beauty And guides the shuttles which hold The threads so unattractive As well as the threads of gold. Not till the loom is silent. And the shuttles cease to fly Shall God unroll the pattern And explain the reason why The dark threads are as needful In the weaver’s skillful hand, As the threads of gold and silver In the pattern he had planned. Do Everything For God Saint Francis de Sales Do everything for God, uniting yourself to Him by a mere upward glance, or by the overflowing of your heart towards Him. Never be in a hurry… Do not lose your inward peace for anything whatsoever, even if your whole world seems upset. Commend all toGod, and then lie still and be at rest… Whatever happens, abide steadfast in a determination to cling simply to God, trusting to His eternal love for you; and if you findthat you have wandered forth from this shelter, recall your heart quietly and simply. Down, Gently Down Carl Seaburg

Down, gently down Softer to sleep Than the bed of night From the littleness Go Down, gently down Wider to wake Than need of sun Into the greatness Go Each Person That Has Ever Lived John M. Ludwig Each person that has ever lived has had the same problem. They wanted to be remembered by everyone for what they were. To be forgotten is worse than death. People wanted to be remembered by other things than books and stories. But in the end that’s all we can be remembered by. There’s nothing you can do at this point but live. But when I’m to die I want to be remembered by one thing. I want people to say ‘He was the type of person that believed and saw the good in others even when they couldn’t believe or see it in themselves.’ That is how I want to be remembered. Early This Morning – A Lighter Heart C.S. Lewis Something quite unexpected has happened. It came this morning early. For various reasons, not in themselves at all mysterious, my heart was lighter than it had been formany weeks. For one thing, I suppose I am recovering physically from a good deal of mere exhaustion. ... And suddenly, at the very moment when, so far, I mourned H. least, I remembered her best. Indeed, it was something (almost) better than memory; an instantaneous, unanswerable impression. To say it was like a meeting would be going too far. Yet there was that in it which tempts one to use those words. It was as if the lifting of the sorrow removed a barrier. Why has no one told me these things? How easily I might have misjudged another man in the same situation? I might have said, ‘He's got over it. He’s forgotten his wife,’ when the truth was, ‘He remembers her better because he has partly got over it.’ Such was the fact. And I believe I can make sense of it. You can't see anything properly while your eyes are blurred with tears. You can't, in most things, get what you want if you want it too desperately: anyway, you can't get the best out of it. ‘Now! Let’s have a real good talk’ reduces everyone to silence. ‘I must get a good sleep tonight’ ushers in hours of wakefulness. Delicious drinks are wasted on a really ravenous thirst. Is it similarly the very intensity of the longing that draws the iron curtain, that makes us feel

we are staring into a vacuum when we think about our dead? Early Death Hartley Coleridge She passed away like morning dew Before the sun was high; So brief her time, she scarcely knew The meaning of a sigh. As round the rose its soft perfume, Sweet love around her floated; Admired she grew – while mortal doom Crept on, unfeared, unnoted. Love was her guardian Angel here, But Love to Death resigned her; Though Love was kind, why should we fear But holy Death is kinder? Eden Rock Charles Causley They are waiting for me somewhere beyond Eden Rock: My father, twenty-five, in the same suit Of Genuine Irish Tweed, his terrier Jack Still two years old and trembling at his feet. My mother, twenty-three, in a sprigged dress Drawn at the waist, ribbon in her straw hat, Has spread the stiff white cloth over the grass. Her hair, the color of wheat, takes on the light. She pours tea from a Thermos, the milk straight From an old H.P. sauce-bottle, a screw Of paper for a cork; slowly sets out The same three plates, the tin cups painted blue. The sky whitens as if lit by three suns. My mother shades her eyes and looks my way Over the drifted stream. My father spins A stone along the water. Leisurely, They beckon to me from the other bank. I hear them call, ‘See where the stream-path is! Crossing is not as hard as you might think.’ I had not thought that it would be like this. His Journey’s Just Begun Ellen Brenneman Don’t think of him as gone away – His journey’s just begun Life holds so many facets This earth is only one.

Just think of him as resting From the sorrows and the tears In a place of warmth and comfort Where there are no days and years. Think how he must be wishing That we could know today How nothing but our sadness Can really pass away. And think of him as living In the hearts of those he touched... For nothing loved is ever lost – And he was loved so much. Hold Onto What Is Good Pueblo verse Hold onto what is good even if it is a handful of earth. Hold onto what you believe even if it is a tree which stands by itself. Hold onto what you must do even if it is a long way from here. Hold onto life even when it is easier letting go. Hold onto my hand even when I have gone away from you. In the snow and wind. H. D. - Hilda Doolittle The snow is melted, The snow is gone, And you are flown: Like a bird out of our hand, Like a light out of our heart, You are gone. I Dreamed Death Came The Other Night Richard Burt I dreamed death came the other night, and heaven’s gate swung wide. An angel with a halo bright ushered me inside. And there, to my astonishment, were folks that I had labeled As quite unfit, of little worth, and spiritually disabled. Hot words of anger sprang to my lips, but never were set free – For from their looks of astonishment, no one expected me! If All The Skies Henry van Dyke If all the skies were sunshine,

Our faces would be fain To feel once more upon them The cooling splash of rain. If all the world were music, Our hearts would often long For one sweet strain of silence. To break the endless song. If life were always merry, Our souls would seek relief, And rest from weary laughter In the quiet arms of grief. If Death Is Kind Sara Teasdale Perhaps if Death is kind, and there can be returning, We will come back to earth some fragrant night, And take these lanes to find the sea, and bending Breathe the same honeysuckle, low and white. We will come down at night to these resounding beaches And the long gentle thunder of the sea, Here for a single hour in the wide starlight We shall be happy, for the dead are free. If I Should Go Before The Rest Of You Joyce Grenfell If I should go before the rest of you, Break not a flower nor inscribe a stone. Nor when I’m gone speak in a Sunday voice, But be the usual selves that I have known. Weep if you must, Parting is hell, But life goes on, So sing as well. If We Could Only Know Phillips Brooks We are so apt to see only what souls go from. When our friend dies we think of all the warm delights of life, all the sweet friendships, all the interesting occupations, all the splendor of the sunlight… If we could only know the presence of God into which our friend enters on the other side, the higher standards, the larger fellowship with all his race, and the new assurance of personal immortality in God; if we could know all this, how our poor comfortless effort of comfort when our friends depart, our feeble raking over the ashes of memory, our desperate struggles to think that the inevitable must be all right; how this would all give way to something almost like a burst of triumph, as the soul we loved went forth to such vast enlargement, to such glorious consummation of its life!

From The Iliad Homer Like the leaves in their generations, Such is the race of men. For the wind casts the leaves from their branches To earthward, and again Others the budding greenwood each springtide Beings to birth, So do men’s generations spring up and fade From earth. I Look To Thee In Every Need Samuel Longfellow I look to Thee in every need, and never look in vain; I feel Thy strong and tender love, and all is well again. The thought of Thee is mightier far than sin and pain and sorrow are. Discouraged in the work of life, disheartened by its load, Shamed by its failures or its fears, I sink beside the road. But let me only think of Thee and then new heart springs up in me. Thy calmness bends serene above, my restlessness to still; Around me flows Thy quickening life, to nerve my faltering will. Thy presence fills my solitude, Thy providence turns all to good. Enfolded deep in Thy dear love, held in Thy law, I stand; Thy hand in all things I behold, and all things in Thy hand. Thou leadest me by unsought ways, and turn my mourning into praise. I’m Here For A Short Visit Only Noel Coward I’m here for a short visit only, And I’d rather be loved than hated. Eternity may be lonely When my body’s disintegrated; And that which is loosely termed my soul Goes whizzing off through the infinite By means of some vague remote control. I’d like to think I was missed a bit. I’m Thinking That Soon, Maybe, We’ll Meet Michael Shepherd I’m thinking, Dad, that soon, maybe, we’ll meet; At least, that’s how it seems from what I hear; The info’s not at all clear on this point: Like, where exactly; and what will I wear, And shall I bring you something; if so, what? I’m not too easy, Dad, about all this: Like, am I sure to find you in that lot? And, will we treat each other like we did,

Or as we should now (God knows how you’ll be…)? And, will we need to talk about past pain? (‘cos that’s what’s really, really bugging me…); Or can we wipe the slate clean, start again? Dad – were you proud of me? You never said… Dad – love you; are things better, now you’re dead? In Deepest Yin Jeremy Naydler In deepest yin, the world has slid, slowed down to sleep within itself. And what was strong, and what was firm, is weak and limp, its colour seeped, its form withdrawn, its residue returning to the elements. As ember buried under ash, in densest dark the fire is hid for which the out-spent soul does yearn. So to the dark it must give in, as does the plant, surrendering sap, surge and seed back to the earth. Then soul, like plant, may round time’s curve and strike from hidden fire.... rebirth. In Memory Of You Kirsti A. Dyer I find an old photograph and see your smile. As I feel your presence anew, I am filled with warmth and my heart remembers love. I read an old card sent many years ago during a time of turmoil and confusion. The soothing words written then still caress my spirit and bring me peace. I remember who you used to be the laughter we shared and wonder what you have become. Where are you now, where did you go, when the body is left behind and the spirit is released to fly? Perhaps you are the morning bird singing joyfully at sunrise, or the butterfly that dances so carelessly on the breeze or the rainbow of colors that brightens a stormy sky

or the fingers of afternoon mist delicately reaching over the mountains or the final few rays of the setting sun lighting up the skies edging the clouds with a magical glow. I miss your being but I feel your presence, in whatever form you choose to take, however you now choose to be. Your spirit has become for me a guardian angel on high guiding, advising, and watching over me. I remember you. You are with me and I am not afraid. In Spring George C. Whitney If I should die (and die I must) please let it be in spring When I, and life up-budding, shall be one And green and lovely things shall blend with all I was And all I hope to be. The chemistry Of miracle within the heart of love and life abundant Shall be mine, and I shall pluck the star-dust and shall know The mystery within the blade And sing the wind’s song in the softness of the flowered glade. April is the time for parting, not because all nature’s tears Presage the blooming time of May But joyous should be death and its adventure As the night gives way to the day. In The Midst Of Life Book Of Common Prayer In the midst of life we are in death. Into The Darkness We Lay You Down Author unknown Into the darkness and warmth of the earth We lay you down. Into the sadness and smiles of our memories We lay you down. Into the cycle of living and dying and rising again We lay you down. May you rest in peace, in fulfilment, in loving May you run straight home into God’s embrace. Into the freedom of wind and sunshine We let you go. Into the dance of the stars and the planets

We let you go. Into the wind’s breath and the hands of the star maker We let you go. We love you, we miss you, we want you to be happy Go safely, go dancing, go running home. It Is Not Growing Like A Tree Ben Jonson It is not growing like a tree In bulk, doth make man better be; Or standing long an oak, three hundred year, To fall a log, at last, dry, bald, and sere: A lily of a day Is fairer far in May, Although it fall, and die that night; It was the plant and flower of light. In small proportions we just beauties see: And in short measures life may perfect be. I Vow To Thee My Country Cecil Spring-Rice I vow to thee, my country, all earthly things above, Entire and whole and perfect, the service of my love; The love that asks no question, the love that stands the test, That lays upon the altar the dearest and the best; The love that never falters, the love that pays the price, The love that makes undaunted the final sacrifice. And there’s another country, I’ve heard of long ago, Most dear to them that love her, most great to them that know; We may not count her armies, we may not see her King; Her fortress is a faithful heart, her pride is suffering; And soul by soul and silently her shining bounds increase, And her ways are ways of gentleness, and all her paths are peace. I Will Lift Up Mine Eyes Unto the Hills Psalm I will lift up mine eyes unto the hills, From whence cometh my help. My help cometh even from the Lord: Who hath made heaven and earth. He will not suffer thy foot to be moved: And he that keepeth thee will not slumber. Behold, he that keepeth Israel Shall neither slumber nor sleep. The Lord himself is thy keeper: The Lord is thy shade upon thy right hand; The sun shall not smite thee by day, Nor the moon by night.

The Lord shall preserve thee from all evil: He shall preserve thy soul. The Lord shall preserve thy going out, and thy coming in, From this time forth, and even for evermore. I Will Not Die An Unlived Life Dawna Markova I will not die an unlived life I will not live in fear Of falling or catching fire. I choose to inhabit my days, To allow my living to open me Making me less afraid, More accessible To loosen my heart Until it becomes a wing, A torch, a promise. I choose to risk my significance. To live so that which came to me as seed Goes to the next as blossom And that which came to me as blossom Goes on as fruit. Last Lines Anne Brontë I hoped that with the brave and strong, My portioned task might lie; To toil amid the busy throng, With purpose pure and high. But God has fixed another part, And He has fixed it well; I said so with my bleeding heart, When first the anguish fell. A dreadful darkness closes in On my bewildered mind; Oh, let me suffer and not sin, Be tortured, yet resigned. Shall I with joy thy blessings share And not endure their loss? Or hope the martyr’s crown to wear And cast away the cross? Thou, God, hast taken our delight, Our treasured hope away; Thou bidst us now weep through the night And sorrow through the day. These weary hours will not be lost, These days of misery, These nights of darkness, anguish-tost, Can I but turn to Thee. Weak and weary though I lie,

Crushed with sorrow, worn with pain, I may lift to Heaven mine eye, And strive to labor not in vain; That inward strife against the sins That ever wait on suffering To strike whatever first begins – Each ill that would corruption bring; That secret labour to sustain With humble patience every blow; To gather fortitude from pain, And hope and holiness from woe. Thus let me serve Thee from my heart, Whate’er may be my written fate: Whether thus early to depart, Or yet a while to wait. If Thou shouldst bring me back to life, More humbled I should be; More wise, more strengthened for the strife, More apt to lean on Thee. Should death be standing at the gate, Thus should I keep my vow; But, Lord! whatever be my fate, Oh, let me serve Thee now! Last Wave Dawn MacGregor-Bromfield I know you love me But I’ve gone where Rose petals are my pillow. I know you cared for me as I got weak I’ve gone where I can run again. I know you hoped my pain would ease So I’ve gone where I can smile again. As I wave goodbye for the last time... I leave with you My words of encouragement... My memories. I leave with you My dreams My warmth. Smile with me... As I go home to rest, I’m tired. The Last Year Robert Friend This is the last year. There will be no other, but heartless nature seemingly relents.

Never has a winter sun spilled so much light, never have so many flowers dared such early bloom. The air is brilliant, sharp. Never have I taken such long, long breaths. Lead, Kindly Light John Henry Newman Lead, kindly light, amid the encircling gloom, Lead Thou me on! The night is dark, and I am far from home, Lead Thou me on! Keep Thou my feet; I do not ask to see The distant scene; one step enough for me. I was not ever thus, nor prayed that Thou Shouldst lead me on. I loved to choose and see my path, but now Lead Thou me on! I loved the garish day, and, spite of fears, Pride ruled my will: remember not past years. So long Thy power hath blest me, sure it still Will lead me on, O’er moor and fen, o’er crag and torrent, till The night is gone; And with the morn those angel faces smile Which I have loved long since, and lost awhile. Lead Us, Heavenly Father, Lead Us James Edmeston Lead us, heavenly Father, lead us O’er the world’s tempestuous sea; Guard us, guide us, keep us, feed us, For we have no help but thee; Yet possessing every blessing, If our God our Father be. Savior, breathe forgiveness o’er us, All our weakness thou dost know; Thou didst tread this earth before us, Thou didst feel its keenest woe; Lone and dreary, faint and weary, Through the desert Thou didst go. Spirit of our God, descending, Fill our hearts with heavenly joy; Love with every passion blending, Pleasure that can never cloy; Thus provided, pardoned, guided, Nothing can our peace destroy.

Let Go When The Time Comes Michael McGee When we can live fully in the present, then and only then can we be fully present to our dying and our death. And then and only then will we find the deeper meaning in life itself. This then is how we can begin to face death: in seeking our courage by becoming more aware of our fears. by loving what is mortal, and, when the time comes to let it go. and by being present and mindful of every moment of life as well as our impending death. Let Me Die, Working Samuel Hall Young Let me die, working. Still tackling plans unfinished, tasks undone! Clean to its end, swift may my race be run. No laggard steps, no faltering, no shirking; Let me die, working! Let me die, thinking. Let me fare forth still with an open mind, Fresh secrets to unfold, new truths to find, My soul undimmed, alert, no question blinking; Let me die, thinking! Let me die, laughing. No sighing o’er past sins; they are forgiven. Spilled on this earth are all the joys of Heaven; The Wine of life, the cup of mirth quaffing. Let me die, laughing! Let Us Endeavor To Live Mark Twain Let us endeavour to live so that when we come to die, even the undertaker will be sorry. Let Us Go Hand In Hand William Morris I’m going your way, so let us go hand in hand. You help me and I’ll help you. We shall

not be here for very long, for soon death, the kind old nurse, will come back and rock us all to sleep. Let us help one another while we may. Let Us Lead Worthy Lives Lord Grey I know very well there is no escape from grief. We cannot love very much without suffering much, and the very pain of our suffering is an evidence of the strength of our love, so that we cannot ever wish grief to be less than it is and must be. The best I can wish for you is that you may have courage and strength; you will yourself know where to seek and find it. Some of you will get it, I hope, from the pleasure you have had in Edward’s life, and of his fine example. We who are left have to make our lives continue to be worthy of those from whom we are separated. Let Us Offer Them Back John B. Coburn All love that binds and holds and coerces and refuses to let go destroys and consumes. A parent must set his child free; a couple must be free to choose to love each other every day till death parts them. When death comes, let them go. It might be helpful to think of this as an offering. They have been given to us – free gifts: love, husbands, wives, children, colleagues, fellow workers, members of a common life. As they have been given to us, let us offer them back… If we are Christians we offer them back to God… Each successive bereavement can bring greater gentleness, less passion to possess things or prestige or power, an abiding courage, a grounding in life unseen and eternal that cannot be shaken, a willingness not to have your own way all the time, a sense… that pain somehow brings greater power than even knowledge, a realization that the deepest satisfactions are in a peace and joy that the world can neither give nor take away, that all life finally is grace. Life And Death J. Donald Johnston In the presence of Life we say NO to Death. In the presence of Death we say YES to Life.

Life Does Not Take Death Seriously Rabindranath Tagore Life as a whole never takes death seriously. It laughs, dances and plays, it builds, hoards and loves in death’s face. Only when we detach one individual death do we see its blankness and become dismayed. We lose sight of the wholeness of a life of which death is a part. It is like looking at a piece of cloth through a microscope. It appears like a net: we gaze at the big holes and shiver in imagination. But the truth is, death is not the ultimate reality. It looks black as the sky looks blue; but it does not blacken existence, just as the sky does not leave its stain upon the wings of a bird. Life Is Too Brief W. M. Vories Life is too brief Between the budding and the falling leaf, Between the seed time and the golden sheaf, For hate and spite. We have no time for malice and for greed; Therefore, with love make beautiful the deed; Fast speeds the night. Life Must Go On Navaho Prayer Grieve for me, for I would grieve for you. Then brush away the sorrow and the tears Life is not over, but begins anew, with courage you must greet the coming years. To live forever in the past is wrong; can only cause you misery and pain. Dwell not on memories overlong, with others you must share and care again. Reach out and comfort those who comfort you; recall the years, but only for a while. Nurse not your loneliness; but live again. Forget not. Remember with a smile. The Life That I Have Leo Marks The life that I have is all that I have, And the life that I have is yours. The love that I have of the life that I have Is yours and yours and yours. A sleep I shall have, A rest I shall have, Yet death will be but a pause, For the peace of my years in the long green grass

Will be yours and yours and yours. Life! We Have Been Long Together Anna Laetitia Barbauld Life! We have been long together, Through pleasant and through cloudy weather, ’Tis hard to part when friends are dear, Perhaps ’twill cost a sigh, a tear; Then steal away; give little warning; Choose thine own time. Say not, ‘Good Night!’ but in some brighter clime, Bid me, ‘Good Morning!’ Like Dew Drops Senryu Karai, Like dew drops on a lotus leaf, I vanish. A Little Bit Of Me Dies Donald H. Wheat Each time a person I have treasured dies, a little bit of me dies as well. I wonder if this isn’t nature’s way of easing my own death. There will be so little to give up. A Little Piece Of Lois Cynthia B. Johnson awash in the macro visioning of the art exhibit I grounded myself in a disciplined consideration of hardware, fasteners, relative merits of foam core versus pastel board, framed versus frameless spread out in the back counter employee-only area, primary focus of the clerk/artist/member of a mutual admiration society another customer needed her assistance, apologized as he passed by me in the narrow aisle, spoke of his need to return to the hospital to be with his dying mother I murmured sympathy and said I, too, was waiting for hospital news from Colorado where my daughter-in-law and son this very hour were in the delivery room to meet their twins my news from the happier edge of the range of human existence, I noted au contraire, he replied in the 60s, they said death was the greatest adventure of them all, the reason it was saved for last, not to be feared but awaited we moved apart after docking for twenty seconds in our cosmic orbits he said his mother was a wonderful person, he’d been lucky to have the parents he had, perhaps my new grandchildren would be so lucky as to get a little piece of Lois

Living In The Heart’s Memory Michael Shepherd A gentle touch upon the forearm with a hand, gloved or warm with life, outside the church door; or turning away from the open grave; or by that concrete place where they lay the floral tributes by the cemetery chapel; or later, as you hand the food around; a gentle touch upon the forearm or a hand sought for to squeeze and hold; or man to man, they favour a shoulder briefly gripped, as if that’s the pressure point where empathetic camaraderie should be applied; the single sentence of consolation, sometimes so well rehearsed, it comes out awkwardly – ‘she’ll be much missed…’ ‘you have so many memories…’ ‘he’ll always be there in our hearts…’ ‘if there’s anything…’ they’ve been through this, themselves, or fear the time they shall – …‘words must be said, but yet there are no words for this; accept then, these few words in lieu of that deep silence which is itself in lieu of words…’ * * * measured, immutable, as precise as any equation of the calculated world, the heart’s memories: every moment that our heart, in many years, has opened to them, these the heart has stored. We know the mind can span the imagined world – from travel brochures to the thought of heaven; yet we forget that, greater still, the heart is vast – there’s all the room for them to live on, there, sustained by every moment of love freely given; for the whole creation is one single act of love. The Lord Is My Shepherd Psalm The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want. He maketh me to lie down in green pastures:

he leadeth me beside the still waters. He restoreth my soul: he leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name’s sake. Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me. Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies: thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over. Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life: and I will dwell in the house of the Lord for ever. Lord Of All Hopefulness Jan Struther Lord of all hopefulness, Lord of all joy, Whose trust, ever childlike, no cares could destroy, Be there at our waking, and give us, we pray, Your bliss in our hearts, Lord, at the break of the day. Lord of all eagerness, Lord of all faith, Whose strong hands were skilled at the plane and the lathe, Be there at our labors, and give us, we pray, Your strength in our hearts, Lord, at the noon of the day. Lord of all kindliness, Lord of all grace, Your hands swift to welcome, your arms to embrace, Be there at our homing, and give us, we pray, Your love in our hearts, Lord, at the eve of the day. Lord of all gentleness, Lord of all calm, Whose voice is contentment, whose presence is balm, Be there at our sleeping, and give us, we pray, Your peace in our hearts, Lord, at the end of the day. Loss John Banister Tabb For one extinguished light Of Love, all heaven is night; For one frail flower the less, The world a wilderness. Love Is Stronger Than Fear Mark DeWolfe Know that the love which blooms inside you is stronger than fear, for people who love find strength they don’t know they had. Know that the love inside y ou is stronger than illness, for people who love hang in when physical health is gone. And know that love is indeed stronger than death, for people who love are like stones tossed into a pool. The

circles of love radiate out and echo back long after the stone has come to rest at the bottom. Make Me Brave For Life Amen Author unknown God, make me brave for life: oh, braver than this. Let me straighten after pain, as a tree straightens after the rain, Shining and lovely again. God, make me brave for life; much braver than this. As the blown grass lifts, let me rise From sorrow with quiet eyes, Knowing Thy way is wise. God, make me brave, life brings Such blinding things. Help me to keep my sight; Help me to see aright That out of dark comes light. May The Lord Be Close To You The Prayer Trust May the Lord be close to you in this time of sorrow. May the Lord gently help you through each and every day, especially the ones that seem hardest and longest. May the Lord comfort you to ease your sadness, and to give you strength for the days ahead. May the Lord give you hope and as you feel the pain of loss, may his promise of eternal life console your heart. Amen May The Roads Rise Up To Meet You Traditional Irish blessing May the roads rise up to meet you, May the wind be always at your back, May the sun shine warm upon your face, May the rains fall soft upon your fields And until we meet again May God hold you in the palm of his hand. From Meditations Of The Heart Howard Thurman I share with you the agony of your grief,

The anguish of your heart finds echo in my own. I know I cannot enter all you feel Nor bear with you the burden of your pain; I can but offer what my love does give: The strength of caring, The warmth of one who seeks to understand The silent storm-swept barrenness of so great a loss. This I do in quiet ways, That on your lonely path You may not walk alone. The Miracle Of Transformation Rufus Jones I never go to a funeral without thinking of this miracle of transformation which br ings the bird out of the egg, the flower out of the seed, the dragon-fly out of its water lava. In his own mysterious way God has emptied the nest by the hatching method, and all that was excellent, lovable and permanent in the one we loved has found itself in the realm for which it was fitted. The body is only the empty shell, the shattered seed, the old husk, which the forces of nature will slowly turn back again into its original elements, to use over again for its myriad processes of building. Miss Me – But Let Me Go Author unknown When I come to the end of the road, And the sun has set for me, I want no rites in a gloom-filled room, Why cry for a soul set free? Miss me a little, but not too long, And not with your head bowed low; Remember the love that we once shared, Miss me – but let me go. For this is a journey we all must take, And each must go alone; It’s all a part of life’s plan, A step on the road to home. When you are lonely and sick of heart, Go to the friends we know, And bury your sorrows in doing good deeds; Miss me – but let me go. Mother Earth, Father Sky Hindu Ascetic

Oh Mother Earth, Father Sky, Brother Wind, Friend Light, Sweetheart Water, Here take my last salutation with folded hands! For today I am melting away into the Supreme Because my heart became pure, And all delusion vanished, Through the power of your good company. Mourners Ted Koosier After the funeral, the mourners gather under the rustling churchyard maples and talk softly, like clusters of leaves. White shirt cuffs and collars flash in the shade; highlights on deep green water. They came this afternoon to say goodbye, but now they keep saying hello and hello, peering into each other’s faces, slow to let go of each other’s hands. Music Of Sorrow Bishop Thorold It is often in sorrow that our lives are taught their sweetest songs. There are human lives that never in the calm of quiet days yield the music that is in them. It is only when the breezes of care and trouble sweep over them that they give out soft murmurings of song. My Coming, My Going Kozan Ichikyo Empty-handed I entered the world Barefoot I leave it. My coming, my going Two simple happenings That got entangled. Nature Henry Wadsworth Longfellow As a fond mother, when the day is o’er, Leads by the hand her little child to bed, Half willing, half reluctant to be led, And leave his broken playthings on the floor, Still gazing at them through the open door, Nor wholly reassured and comforted By promises of others in their stead,

Which, though more splendid, may not please him more; So nature deals with us, and takes away Our playthings one by one, and by the hand Leads us to rest so gently, that we go Scarce knowing if we wish to go or stay, Being too full of sleep to understand How far the unknown transcends the what we know. Nearer, My God, To Thee Sarah Flower Adams Nearer, my God, to Thee, Nearer to Thee! E’en though it be a cross That raiseth me, Still all my song shall be, ‘Nearer, my God, to Thee, Nearer to Thee!’ Though, like the wanderer, The sun gone down, Darkness be over me, My rest a stone, Yet in my dreams I’d be Nearer, my God, to Thee, Nearer to Thee! There let the way appear, Steps unto heaven; All that Thou sendest me, In mercy given: Angels to beckon me Nearer, my God, to Thee, Nearer to Thee! Then, with my waking thoughts Bright with Thy praise, Out of my stony griefs Bethel I’ll raise; So by my woes to be Nearer, my God, to Thee, Nearer to Thee! Or, if on joyful wing Cleaving the sky, Sun, moon, and stars forgot, Upwards I fly, Still all my song shall be, ‘Nearer, my God, to Thee, Nearer to Thee!’ There in my Father’s home, Safe and at rest, There in my Savior’s love, Perfectly blest; Age after age to be, Nearer, my God, to Thee,

Nearer to Thee! Never Did I Want So Much For You Michael Shepherd Never did I want so much for you As when I sat there in the downstairs room Where you’d just died, so restlessly askew With thrashing limbs too angled for a tomb; Not with the peace I thought you must deserve, Not with the words of love and tender care, Not with last precious memories to preserve, Not with a gentle breath, but gasping air; Only at peace when after all event, Only at rest when rest was past your ken, Only to touch, when you could not prevent And push aside my hands; and only then… And then, I begged with all my heart of God To judge you as I loved you: wholly good. A New Quietness Fills our Hearts James Gordon Gilkey Why do we claim that the world beyond death is a world without terrors? Because we believe that a God of love, unfailing and all-including love, planned this vast scheme of things. We cannot believe that He would frighten or hurt any of his children, either in life or after death. When terrifying things happen here on earth they are (we believe) the work of something or someone other than our Father-in-Heaven. And the life after death? We believe that it is through a quiet door the dead pass, that it is in a friendly world they find themselves, that there they retain their identity and their love for us. At that point our speculations stop… but meantime our fear has faded. In place of dread a new quietness fills our hearts. We are confident that our dead are safe, and that around them as around us is a never-failing Divine Love. From The Night Henry Vaughan There is in God (some say) A deep, but dazzling darkness; as men here Say it is late and dusky, because they See not all clear; O for that night! where I in him

Might live invisible and dim. No Coward Soul Emily Brontë No coward soul is mine, No trembler in the world’s storm-troubled sphere: I see Heaven’s glories shine, And Faith shines equal, arming me from fear. O God within my breast, Almighty, ever-present Deity! Life – that in me has rest, As I – undying Life – have Power in Thee! Vain are the thousand creeds That move men’s hearts: unutterably vain; Worthless as withered weeds, Or idlest froth amid the boundless main, To waken doubt in one Holding so fast by Thine infinity; So surely anchored on The steadfast rock of immortality. With wide-embracing love Thy spirit animates eternal years, Pervades and broods above, Changes, sustains, dissolves, creates, and rears. Though earth and man were gone, And suns and universes ceased to be, And Thou wert left alone, Every existence would exist in Thee. There is not room for Death, Nor atom that his might could render void: Thou – Thou art Being and Breath, And what Thou art may never be destroyed. No Funeral Gloom William Allingham No funeral gloom, my dears, when I am gone, Corpse-gazing, tears, black raiment, graveyard grimness. Think of me as withdrawn into the dimness, Yours still, you mine. Remember all the best Of our past moments and forget the rest; And so to where I wait, come gently on. Non Nobis Tantum Nati Author unknown Though I am dead, grieve not with tears; Think not of death with sorrowing and fears; I am so near that every tear you shed Touches me, although you think me dead.

But when you laugh and sing in glad delight, Thy soul is lifted upwards to the height, And I, though dead, will share your joy in living. No Single Thing Abides Lucretius No single thing abides; but all things flow. Fragment to fragment clings – the things thus grow Until we know and name them. By degrees They melt, and are no more the things we know. Globed from the atoms falling slow or swift I see the suns, I see the systems lift Their forms; and even the systems and the suns Shall go back slowly to the eternal drift. Thou too, oh earth – thine empires, lands, and seas – Least with thy stars, of all the galaxies, Globed from the drift, like these thou too Shalt go. Thou art going, hour by hour, like these. Nothing abides. The seas in delicate haze Go off; those mooned sands forsake their place; And where they are, shall other seas in turn Mow with their scythes of whiteness other bays. The seeds that once were we take flight and fly, Winnowed to earth, or whirled along the sky, Not lost but disunited. Life lives on. It is the lives, the lives, the lives, that die. Flakes of the water, on the waters cease! Soul of the body, melt and sleep like these. Atoms to atoms – weariness to rest – Ashes to ashes – hopes and fears to peace! Not, How Did He Die, But How Did He Live? Author unknown Not, how did he die, but how did he live? Not, what did he gain, but what did he give? These are the units to measure the worth Of a man as a man, regardless of birth. Not what was his church, nor what was his creed? But had he befriended those really in need? Was he ever ready, with word of good cheer, To bring back a smile, to banish a tear? Not what did the sketch in the newspaper say, But how many were sorry when he passed away? Now Breathe Great Breaths Of Heaven John Davies now breathe great breaths of heaven

move well for pain has gone cry joy and sing your heart beats strong now cherished little one Often When The Heart Is Torn With Sorrow Helen Keller Often when the heart is torn with sorrow, spiritually we wander like a traveler lost in a deep wood. We grow frightened, lose all sense of direction, batter ourselves against trees and rocks in our attempt to find a path. All the while there is a path – a path of faith – that leads straight out of the dense tangle of our difficulties into the open road we are seeking. Let us not weep for those who have gone away when their lives were at full bloom and beauty… Who shall say whether those who die in the splendor of their prime are not fortunate to have known no abatement, no dulling of the flame by ash, no slow fading of life’s perfect flower. O God, Our Help In Ages Past Isaac Watts O God, our help in ages past, Our hope for years to come, Our shelter from the stormy blast, And our eternal home! Under the shadow of Thy throne Thy saints have dwelt secure; Sufficient is Thine arm alone, And our defense is sure. Before the hills in order stood, Or Earth received her frame, From everlasting Thou art God, To endless years the same. Thy Word commands our flesh to dust: “Return, ye sons of men,” All nations rose from earth at first, And turn to earth again. A thousand ages in Thy sight Are like an evening gone; Short as the watch that ends the night Before the rising sun. Time, like an ever-rolling stream,

Bears all its sons away; They fly, forgotten, as a dream Dies at the opening day. O God, our help in ages past, Our hope for years to come, Be Thou our guard while troubles last, And our eternal home. O God, Whose Ways Are Hidden From Common Worship: Pastoral Services, The Church Of England O God, whose ways are hidden and thy words most wonderful, who makest nothing in vain and lovest all that thou hast made: we give thee thanks for thy son/daughter (name), who was so dear to us, for his/her life and his/her love, and for the light and peace and contentment which he/she brought to us. Comfort us thy servants, whose hearts are sore smitten and oppressed; and grant that we may so love and serve thee in this life by love and service to others, that with him/her we may obtain the fullness of thy promises in the world to come; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen. O Help Us To Think Wisely A soldier’s prayer, from Winchester Cathedral O help us to think wisely, To speak rightly, To resolve bravely And to live purely. Support us in life And comfort us in death. Old Age Flowing Free Edith Wharton Old age, calm, expanded, broad with the haughty breadth of the universe, old age flowing free with the delicious near-by freedom of death. O May I Join The Choir Invisible George Eliot Of those immortal dead who live again In minds made better by their presence: live In pulses stirred to generosity, In deeds of daring rectitude, in scorn For miserable aims that end with self, In thoughts sublime that pierce the night like stars,

And with their mild persistence urge man’s search To vaster issues. So to live is heaven: To make undying music in the world. May I reach That purest heaven, be to other souls The cup of strength in some great agony, Enkindle generous ardor, feed pure love, Beget the smiles that have no cruelty, Be the sweet presence of a good diffused, And in diffusion ever more intense! So shall I join the choir invisible Whose music is the gladness of the world. On Dying Henry Scott Holland I am standing upon the seashore. A ship at my side spreads her white sails to the morning breeze and starts for the blue ocean. She is an object of beauty and strength. I stand and watch her until at length she hangs like a speck of white cloud on the horizon, just where the sea and sky come down to mingle with each other. Then someone at my side says, ‘There she goes!’ Gone where? Gone from my sight... that is all. She is just as large in mast and hull and spar as she was when she left my side and just as able to bear her load of living freight to the place of destination. Her diminished size is in me, not in her. And just at the moment when someone at my side says, ‘There she goes!’ there are other eyes watching her coming, and other voices ready to take up the glad shout: ‘Here she comes!’ This is how I see and understand death. One Equal Eternity John Donne Bring us, O Lord God, at our last awakening into the house and gate of heaven, to enter into that gate and dwell in that house, where there shall be no darkness nor dazzling, but one equal light; no noise nor silence, but one equal music; no fears nor hopes, but one equal possession; no ends nor beginnings, but one equal eternity; in the habitations of thy glory and dominion, world without end. The Parting Glass Irish Traditional Song Oh all the time that e’er I spent, I spent it in good company. And any harm that e’er I’ve done, I trust it was to none but me. May those I’ve loved through all the years Have memories now they’ll e’er recall. So fill to me the parting glass, Good night, and joy be with you all.

Oh all the comrades that e’er I had, Are sorry for my going away. And all the loved ones that e’er I had, Would wish me one more day to stay. But since it falls unto my lot That I should leave and you should not, I’ll gently rise and I’ll softly call Good night, and joy be with you all. Of all good times that e’er we shared, I leave to you fond memory. And for all the friendship that e’er we had, I ask you to remember me. And when you sit and stories tell, I’ll be with you and help recall. So fill to me the parting glass, God bless, and joy be with you all. A Parting Guest James Whitcomb Riley What delightful hosts are they – Life and Love! Lingeringly I turn away, This late hour, yet glad enough They have not withheld from me Their high hospitality. So, with face lit with delight And all gratitude, I stay Yet to press their hands and say, “Thanks. – So fine a time! Good night.” A Perfect Day Carrie Jacobs Bond When you come to the end of a perfect day, And you sit alone with your thought, While the chimes ring out with a carol gay For the joy that the day has brought, Do you think what the end of a perfect day Can mean to a tired heart, When the sun goes down with a flaming ray, And the dear friends have to part? Well, this is the end of a perfect day, Near the end of a journey, too; But it leaves a thought that is big and strong, With a wish that is kind and true. For memory has painted this perfect day

With colours that never fade, And we find, at the end of a perfect day, The soul of a friend we’ve made. The Plants Who Teach Me All I Know Jeremy Naydler The plants, who teach me all I know, have shown me it is part of life to be frozen and formless in the dark below. Dying, the thing that we most dread, each year they readily embrace: I bow to them, my friends the plants, who shed their forms with such good grace. They give themselves to winter’s night, and then, when all’s completely lost, from dark and cold they rise again and strive, strive, strive for the light. A Poem For My Friend Whose Mother Is Near Death Cynthia B. Johnson I forwarded a poem to her by email this morning a poem about seeing and being remembering and moving forward through space and noticing each other’s oddities with an unblinking gaze a short message of my own:Thinking of you, hoping you are feeling everything intensely but are not overwhelmed. Love, Cynthia A few minutes earlier, I had left a message on her answering machine offering to come see her if I would be an interlude not a distraction. How do we comfort one another when our mothers are dying slowly or suddenly just up and die or even when we are still missing them after they’ve been gone hundreds of calendar days? Do we send two cups of ginger tea through the mail hope she can imagine hot tea and scones shared in a sunny room on a winter afternoon? Shall I order a new sable paint brush from a catalogue to remind her there will be long hours in her studio later after what is happening has happened? Shall I pass along decisions the committee made about all sorts of things or help her assume the whole world is on hold while this awful thing is happening no newspapers published because there is no news the economy floundering because no one is buying anything politicians opening their mouths without words coming out autumn on hold because scarlet might feel unseemly and bare trees unbearable? Shall we leave her to her keening the howling way women do in the Middle East when their sons die? When mothers die, a piece of us is dislodged forever Know, too,

that we do survive companioned by memories in our bones Praise Of A Man Norman MacCaig He went through a company like a lamplighter – see the dull minds, one after another, begin to glow, to shed a beneficent light. He went through a company like a knifegrinder – see the dull minds scattering sparks of themselves, becoming razory, becoming useful. He went through a company as himself. But now he’s one of the multitudinous company of the dead where there are no individuals. The beneficent lights dim but don’t vanish. The razory edges dull, but still cut. He’s gone: but you can see his tracks still, in the snow of the world. Prayer For A Baby Who Died Vienna Cobb Anderson She was so small, so beautiful, so full of hope and promise. What a blessing she has been to all of us who knew her those few short months. She taught us to love, to hope beyond expectation, to trust in that which is unseen. She drew us together in our anxiety, our moments of despairing and hopelessness, as well as in our joys and delight, and in her every breath. Her life ended prematurely; just so had she been born. Too soon she died. We wept. The tears continue. We hugged and held one another. The pain will always linger. Our hearts emptier for her absence and the unfulfilled dreams she promised. But the love she brought into our lives will live forever.

Thank you for giving her to us. Thank you for the blessing that she will always be. Thank you for the love we would never have known, but for her and her brief days with us. Thank you for _____, our blessed child of grace. Amen. Prayer For All Occasions Gordon B. McKeeman For simple things that are not simple at all; For miracles of the common way . . . Sunrise . . . Sunset Seedtime . . . Harvest Hope . . . Joy . . . Ecstasy For Grace that turns our intentions into deeds, our compassion into helpfulness our pain into mercy; For Providence that sustains and supports our needs; We lift our hearts in thankfulness and pray only to be more aware and thus more alive. Amen and amen. Prayer For A Memorial Service Kirk Loadman-Copeland God of tears and the mysterious silence, God of suffering and God of hope, you have made for everything a season. This is the season of our sorrow, of our grief, and we pray for grace to deal with what seems impossible to deal with. We remember the promise made to those who mourn, yet too often it seems that comfort is beyond our grasp. We know that we cannot bear this burden alone. Should we pray for our grief to be transformed, or is the purpose of our grief to transform us? Will our sorrow lead somewhere unexpected? Might it lead us back to life if we follow it? Is it a reminder of the precious reality of life and love? The death of our loved one has created a vast,

empty space within our lives, a great longing within our hearts. Can it ever be filled? Can it be healed by the sacred memory that makes our loved one forever a part of us? So many questions, O God, and so much silence. May we be patient toward all that is unanswered in our hearts. And may others be patient with us, with our sorrow, our anger, our fear and our questions. We are those who mourn. We seek the comfort that we can offer each other and the blessings of divine love and grace. Amen. Prayer For Peace Satish Kumar Lead me from death to life, from falsehood to truth. Lead me from despair to hope, from fear to trust. Lead me from hate to love, from war to peace. Let peace fill our heart, our world, our universe. Prayer For Those Who Have Committed Suicide Vienna Cobb Anderson Bless, O God of eternal life, all who have died by their own hand. Grant them peace from their inner turmoil and the compassion of your love. Comfort those who mourn their loved ones. Strengthen them to face the questions of pain, the guilt and anger, the irreparable loss. Help us to reach out in love to others who prefer death to the choices of life and to their families who grieve. Amen. Prayer For Those Who Mourn Book Of Common Prayer Almighty God, Father of all mercies and giver of all comfort: deal graciously, we pray thee, with those who mourn, that casting every care on thee, they may know the consolation of thy love, through Jesus Christ our Lord. A Psalm Of Life Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Tell me not, in mournful numbers, Life is but an empty dream! For the soul is dead that slumbers, And things are not what they seem. Life is real! Life is earnest! And the grave is not its goal; Dust thou art, to dust returnest, Was not spoken of the soul. Not enjoyment, and not sorrow, Is our destined end or way; But to act, that each to-morrow Find us further than to-day. Art is long, and Time is fleeting, And our hearts, though stout and brave, Still, like muffled drums, are beating Funeral marches to the grave. In the world’s broad field of battle, In the bivouac of Life, Be not like dumb, driven cattle! Be a hero in the strife! Trust no Future, howe’er pleasant! Let the dead Past bury its dead! Act – act in the living Present! Heart within, and God o’erhead! Lives of great men all remind us We can make our lives sublime, And, departing, leave behind us Footprints on the sands of time; Footprints, that perhaps another, Sailing o’er life’s solemn main, A forlorn and shipwrecked brother, Seeing, shall take heart again. Let us, then, be up and doing, With a heart for any fate; Still achieving, still pursuing, Learn to labor and to wait. From Rebecca Daphne du Maurier When people suffer a great shock, like death, or the loss of a limb, I believe they don’t feel it just at first. If your hand is taken from you, you don’t know, for a few minutes, that your hand is gone. You go on feeling the fingers. You stretch and beat them on the air, one by one, and all the time there is nothing there, no hand, no fingers… I was shocked at my lack of emotion and this queer cold absence of distress. Little by little the feeling will come back to me, I said to myself, little by little I shall understand.

Remarkable Sue Pfaltz It shouldn’t seem remarkable But still it does To realize, as we walk at Summer’s end along the beach, The waves keep rolling in and ebbing out Long after we have turned and walked away. Oh sure, the sands will shift and dunes will move. The waves will change in color, shape and size. But always they’ll be rolling in and out, The never ending sound will fall and rise. Something like the same is in the woods. This trail will still be here beneath the oaks With mist or sunlight beckoning ahead And birdsong laced between the shifting leaves When we have left the trail and gone away. Well yes, they may come in with trucks and saws And fell the tall tree down across the trail. But still its trace will probably remain Beside a sapling oak that’s sprouting there. It shouldn’t seem remarkable But it still does To know the sun most definitely will rise In blue skies or behind some matted clouds The morning after the day that I have died. Remember Me When I Am Gone Away Christina Rossetti Remember me when I am gone away, Gone far away into the silent land; When you can no more hold me by the hand, Nor I half turn to go, yet turning stay. Remember me when no more day by day You tell me of our future that you planned. Only remember me; you understand It will be too late to counsel then or pray. Yet if you should forget me for a while And afterwards remember, do not grieve; For if the darkness and corruption leave A vestige of the thoughts that once I had, Better by far you should forget and smile Than that you should remember and be sad. Remembrance Emily Brontë Cold in the earth – and the deep snow piled above thee! Far, far removed, cold in the dreary grave!

Have I forgot, my only Love, to love thee, Severed at last by Time’s all-severing wave? Now, when alone, do my thoughts no longer hover Over the mountains, on that northern shore; Resting their wings where heath and fern-leaves cover That noble heart for ever, ever more? Cold in the earth, and fifteen wild Decembers From those brown hills have melted into spring: Faithful indeed is the spirit that remembers After such years of change and suffering! Sweet Love of youth, forgive if I forget thee, While the world’s tide is bearing me along: Other desires and other hopes beset me, Hopes which obscure, but cannot do thee wrong! No later light has lightened up my heaven, No other Star has ever shone for me: All my life’s bliss from thy dear life was given, All my life’s bliss is in the grave with thee. But, when the days of golden dreams had perished, And even Despair was powerless to destroy, Then did I learn how existence could be cherished, Strengthened, and fed without the aid of joy; Then did I check the tears of useless passion, Weaned my young soul from yearning after thine; Sternly denied its burning wish to hasten Down to that tomb already more than mine. And even yet, I dare not let it languish, Dare not indulge in Memory’s rapturous pain; Once drinking deep of that divinest anguish, How could I seek the empty world again? Requiem Robert Louis Stevenson Under the wide and starry sky, Dig the grave and let me lie. Glad did I live and gladly die, And I laid me down with a will. This be the verse you grave for me: Here he lies where he longed to be, Home is the sailor, home from sea, And the hunter home from the hill. A Return To Eternity John Muir The rugged old Norsemen spoke of death as Heimgang: home-going. So the snowflowers go home when they melt and flow to the sea, and the rock-ferns, after unrolling their fronds to the light and beautifying the rocks, roll them up close again in the autumn and blend with the soil. Myriads of rejoicing living creatures, daily, hourly, perhaps every moment sink into death’s arms, dust to dust, spirit to spirit – waited on, watched over, noticed only by their Maker,

each arriving at its own Heaven-dealt destiny. All the merry dwellers of the trees and streams, and the myriad swarms of the air, called into life by the sunbeam of a summer morning, go home thru death, wings folded perhaps in the last red rays of sunset of the day they were first tried. Trees towering in the sky, braving storms of centuries, flowers turning faces to the light for a single day or hour, having enjoyed their share of life’s feast – all alike pass on and away under the law of death and love. Yet all are our brothers and they enjoy life as we do, share Heaven’s blessings with us, die and are buried in hallowed ground, come with us out of eternity and return into eternity. Rise Up Slowly, Angel Diane Robertson Rise up slowly, Angel For I cannot let you go Just drift softly midst the faces In sorry now bent low Ease the searing anger, Born in harsh, unyielding truth. That Death could steal my loved one, From the glowing blush of youth. Rise up slowly, Angel Do not leave me here alone Where the warmth of mortal essence, Lies replaced by cold hard stone Speak to me in breezes, Whispered through the drying leaves And caress my brow with raindrops, Filtered by the sheltering trees. Rise up slowly, Angel For I cannot hear the song Which calls you through the shadows, Into the light beyond. Wrap me in a downy cape, Of sunshine, warm with love. And kiss a tear-stained mother’s face With moonlight from above. Then wait for me at sunset, Beside the lily pond. And guide me safely homeward To your world, which lies beyond. Just spread your arms to take me In reunion’s sweet embrace. And we shall soar, together To a different time and place. From Romeo and Juliet William Shakespeare When he shall die, Take him and cut him out in little stars,

And he will make the face of heaven so fine That all the world will be in love with night And pay no worship to the garish sun. Save Me, O God Psalm Save me, O God; for the waters are come in even unto my soul. I sink in deep mire, where there is no standing: I am come into deep waters, where the floods overflow me. I am weary of my crying: my throat is dry: mine eyes fail while I wait for my God. Deliver me out of the mire, and let me not sink: let me be delivered from them that hate me, and out of the deep waters. Let not the water-flood overflow me, neither let the deep swallow me up, and let not the pit shut her mouth upon me. Hear me, O Lord; for thy loving-kindness is good: turn thee unto me according to the multitude of thy tender mercies. Separated By The Thinnest of Veils Abbé Henri de Tourville We must think of the dead as alive and joyful and we must rejoice in their happiness, remembering that we are in close and constant communion with them, our life only separated from theirs by the thinnest of veils. We must remember, too, that this does not separate us either from God – our eternal joy, who more than makes up all that we lack – or from the companionship of those who are with God in infinite time and space. Let us be brave and keep the eyes of our souls wide open to all these realities: let us see clearly around us those things which others only care to see dimly. From Set In Stone Victoria Safford In a cemetery once, an old one in New England, I found a strangely soothing epitaph. The name of the deceased and her dates had been scoured away by wind and rain, but there was a carving of a tree with roots and branches (a classic nineteenth-century motif) and among them the words, “She attended well and faithfully to a few worthy things.” At first this seemed to me a little meager, a little stingy

on the part of her survivors, but I wrote it down and have thought about it since, and now I can’t imagine a more proud or satisfying legacy. Every day I stand in danger of being struck by lightning and having the obituary in the local paper say, for all the world to see, “She attended frantically and ineffectually to a great many unimportant, meaningless details.” How do you want your obituary to read? She Is Gone Anonymous You can shed tears that she is gone or you can smile because she has lived. You can close your eyes and pray that she’ll come back or you can open your eyes and see all she’s left. Your heart can be empty because you can’t see her or you can be full of the love you shared. You can turn your back on tomorrow and live yesterday or you can be happy for tomorrow because of yesterday. You can remember her and only that she’s gone or you can cherish her memory and let it live on. You can cry and close your mind, be empty and turn your back or you can do what she’d want: smile, open your eyes, love and go on. She Speaks Of Death Barbara Pescan Oblivion, she said in a weary voice, is what is after death. There is nothing after death but nothing and that’s all right with me. It made good scientific sense, nailed to the cathedral door of her religious childhood. And when her husband died a few years later oblivion pinned against eternity sagged in the middle and in its folds sweet disbelief surprised her and the hope she hadn’t seen the last of him yet. Sixty-Eighth Birthday James Russell Lowell As life runs on, the road grows strange With faces new, and near the end

The milestones into headstones change, ’Neath every one a friend. The Slow Wisdom Of Grief Georgia Harkness The grief that death brings is, of course, not all of one level. The death of an aged, helpless parent can be welcomed as a blessed release for the person whose work is finished, with no lack of love or respect for the deceased. When a younger person is known to be incurably ill in mind or body, one can mourn his passing without wanting his bondage to earth to be prolonged. Every death brings the sadness of separation to those who love. But it is when death comes prematurely, or violently, or suddenly andwithout warning, that the shock of bereavement can be life’s bitterest experience. How can one bear it? How pick up the threads of life to carry them forward? Again only afew simple suggestions will be offered. First, one must accept the inevitable. One may be too stunned at first to believe it can be true. Yet it is true. The person who was a warm, sweet, living presence is no longer here, and will not be again except in memory. No fruitful reordering of life is possible One must not expect all at once to adjust to it. It is part of ‘grief’s slow wisdom’ that only time can heal the poignancy of the hurt. To try to hurry the process is not so much disrespect toward the deceased as the creation of new inner conflicts in the living. One must give expression without shame to his grief... if one feels moved to weep in private or in public, it is far better to do so than to keep it bottled up. Repression can work serious havoc by driving the poison of sorrow inward. The Soldier Rupert Brooke If I should die, think only this of me: That there’s some corner of a foreign field That is for ever England. There shall be In that rich earth a richer dust concealed; A dust whom England bore, shaped, made aware, Gave, once, her flowers to love, her ways to roam, A body of England’s, breathing English air, Washed by the rivers, blest by suns of home. And think, this heart, all evil shed away, A pulse on the eternal mind, no less Gives somewhere back the thoughts by England given; Her sights and sounds; dreams happy as her day; And laughter, learnt of friends; and gentleness, In hearts at peace, under an English heaven. So Many Different Lengths Of Time Brian Patten How long does a man live, after all?

Is it a thousand days, or only one? One week, or a few centuries? How long does a man spend living or dying and what do we mean when we say ‘gone forever’? Adrift in such preoccupations, we seek clarification. We can go to the philosophers but they will weary of our questions. We can go to the priests and rabbis but they might be busy with administrations. So, how long does a man live after all? And how much does he live while he lives? We fret and ask so many questions - then when it comes to us the answer is so simple after all. A man lives for as long as we carry him inside us, for as long as we carry the harvest of his dreams, for as long as we ourselves live, holding memories in common, a man lives. His lover will carry his man’s scent, his touch: his children will carry the weight of his love. One friend will carry his arguments, another will hum his favourite tunes, another will still share his terrors. And the days will pass with baffled faces, then the weeks, then the months, then there will be a day when no question is asked, and the knots of grief will loosen in the stomach and the puffed faces will calm. And on that day he will not have ceased but will have ceased to be separated by death. How long does a man live, after all? A man lives so many different lengths of time. Some Things Will Never Change Thomas Wolfe Some things will never change. Some things will always be the same. Lean down your ear upon the earth, and listen. The voice of forest water in the night, a woman’s laughter in the dark, the clean, hard rattle of naked gravel, the cricketing stitch of midday in hot meadows, the delicate web of children’s voices in bright air – these things will never change. The glitter of sunlight on roughened water, the glory of the stars, the innocence of morning, the smell of the sea in harbors, the feathery blur and smoky buddings of youngboughs, and something there that comes and goes and never can be captured, the thorn of spring, the sharp and tongueless cry – these things will always be the same. All things belonging to the earth will never change – the leaf, the blade, the flower, the wind that cries and sleeps and wakes again, the trees whose stiff arms clash and tremble in the dark, and the dust of lovers long since buried in

the earth – all things proceeding from the earth to seasons, all things that lapse and change and come again upon the earth – these things will always be the same, for they come up from the earth that never changes, they go back into the earth that lasts forever. Only the earth endures, but it endures forever. The tarantula, the adder, and the asp will also never change. Pain and death will always be the same. But under the pavements trembling like a pulse, under the buildings trembling like a cry, under the waste of time, under the hoof of the beast above the broken bones of cities, there will be something growing like a flower, something bursting from the earth again, forever deathless, faithful, coming into life again like April. A Song Of Living Amelia Josephine Burr Because I have loved life, I shall have no sorrow to die. I have sent up my gladness on wings, to be lost in the blue of the sky. I have run and leaped with the rain, I have taken the wind to my breast. My cheek like a drowsy child to the face of the earth I have pressed. Because I have loved life, I shall have no sorrow to die. I have kissed young Love on the lips, I have heard his song to the end. I have struck my hand like a seal in the loyal hand of a friend. I have known the peace of heaven, the comfort of work done well. I have longed for death in the darkness and risen alive out of hell. Because I have loved life, I shall have no sorrow to die. I give a share of my soul to the world, when and where my course is run. I know that another shall finish the task I must surely leave undone. I know that no flower, no flint was in vain on the path I trod. As one looks on a face through a window, through life I have looked on God. Because I have loved life, I shall have no sorrow to die. Song Of The River William R. Hearst The snow melts on the mountain And the water runs down to the spring, And the spring in a turbulent fountain, With a song of youth to sing, Runs down to the riotous river, And the river flows on to the sea, And the water again Goes back in rain To the hills where it used to be. And I wonder if Life’s deep mystery Isn’t much like the rain and the snow Returning through all eternity To the places it used to know. For life was born on the lofty heights And flows in a laughing stream To the river below Whose onward flow Ends in a peaceful dream.

And so at last, When our life has passed And the river has run its course, It again goes back, O’er the selfsame track, To the mountain which was its source. So why prize life Or why fear death, Or dread what is to be? The river ran its allotted span Till it reached the silent sea. Then the water harked back to the mountaintop To begin its course once more. So we shall run the course begun Till we reach the silent shore, Then revisit earth in a pure rebirth From the heart of the virgin snow. So don’t ask why we live or die, Or wither, or when we go, Or wonder about the mysteries That only God may know. Sonnet 30 William Shakespeare When to the sessions of sweet silent thought I summon up remembrance of things past, I sigh the lack of many a thing I sought, And with old woes new wail my dear time’s waste. Then can I drown an eye, unused to flow, For precious friends hid in death’s dateless night, And weep afresh love’s long since cancelled woe, And moan the expense of many a vanished sight. Then can I grieve at grievances foregone, And heavily from woe to woe tell o’er The sad account of fore-bemoaned moan, Which I new pay as if not paid before. But if the while I think on thee, dear friend, All losses are restored and sorrows end. From Sonnets From The Portuguese Elizabeth Barrett Browning How do I love thee? Let me count the ways. I love thee to the depth and breadth and height My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight For the ends of Being and ideal Grace. I love thee to the level of everyday’s Most quiet need, by sun and candlelight. I love thee freely, as men strive for Right; I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise. I love thee with the passion put to use

In my old griefs, and with my childhood’s faith. I love thee with a love I seemed to lose With my lost saints – I love thee with the breath, Smiles, tears, of all my life! – and, if God choose, I shall but love thee better after death. Sonnet To Rupert Brooke John Gillespie Magee We laid him in a cool and shadowed grove One evening in the dreamy scent of thyme Where leaves were green, and whispered high above – A grave as humble as it was sublime; There, dreaming in the fading deeps of light – The hands that thrilled to touch a woman’s hair; Brown eyes, that loved the Day, and looked on Night, A soul that found at last its answered Prayer... There daylight, as a dust, slips through the trees. And drifting, gilds the fern around his grave – Where even now, perhaps, the evening breeze Steals shyly past the tomb of him who gave New sight to blinded eyes; who sometimes wept – A short time dearly loved; and after, – slept. Sorrow Edna St. Vincent Millay Sorrow like a ceaseless rain Beats upon my heart. People twist and scream in pain, Dawn will find them still again; This has neither wax nor wane, Neither stop nor start. People dress and go to town; I sit in my chair. All my thoughts are slow and brown: Standing up or sitting down Little matters, or what gown Or what shoes I wear. Sorrow Must Be Lived With Elizabeth Gray Vining Sorrow cannot be fought and overcome; it cannot be evaded or escaped; it must be lived with… we must learn how to shoulder the burden of it, to carry it so that it does not break our stride or sap the strength of those about us through their pity for our woe. Death of the young and vigorous when they still have much to experience and much to

give, loss of the rare and precious person in midstream, is comparatively unusual in good times, but in times of war it becomes tragically frequent. Somehow we must learn not only to meet it with courage, which is comparatively easy, but to bear it with serenity, which is more difficult, being not a single act but a way of living. ‘Men help each other by their joy,’ Ruskin said, ‘not by their sorrow.’ Sorrow may be the plow and the harrow which dig the soil and crumble it fine, but it is the fresh-springing plant of joy that is directly of benefit to our fellows. Stars, Songs, Faces Carl Sandburg Gather the stars if you wish it so. Gather the songs and keep them. Gather the faces of women. Gather for keeping years and years. And then . . . Loosen your hands, let go and say goodbye. Let the stars and songs go. Let the faces and years go. Loosen your hands and say goodbye. Stars Whose Light Shines Hannah Szenes There are stars whose light shines on the face of the earth after they are no longer in the heavens. There are people whose memory gives light after they are no longer among us. These lights shine and illumine the road in darkness in the gray of night. Streaks Ann Bushnell Comets visit when they must. Flicking their dragon tails toward earth, they hurtle by. Their passage fills the sky with dragon dust. Earth’s ball of life spins toward sun, trails clouds of cells and souls whose clocks decree release from gravity. Their work is done.

Both souls and dust are called upon to streak the endless night, fall down from sky, brief light for mind and eye, cry glory and pass on. Sudden Death And The To Do List Cynthia B. Johnson Comes the day when life stops. Sometimes abruptly. Unscheduled. Unplanned. The calendar full of appointments for tomorrows not to be. Large things, like tickets bought but not used. Like dinner parties for which invitations have been mailed, responses received. Like speeches scheduled and project deadlines agreed to. Small things, like clothes at the dry cleaners. Like a small stack of phone messages to be returned. Like two lamb chops thawing for tonight’s dinner. No one’s daytimer lists “Death – all day Wednesday” as the final appointment. From Surviving Death Charles Meyer We do not recover from the death of a loved one. In fact, we never recover from that death in the same way we recover from an illness or broken limb. It will always be a part of us – always – and to suggest otherwise is unrealistically and harshly to imply that we somehow “get over” the feelings about the event or stop experiencing painful reminiscences of the loved one or the death. A much more accurate metaphor is represented in the old Carole King song “Tapestry.” My life has been a tapestry of rich and royal hue An everlasting vision of the ever changing view A wondrous woven magic in bits of blue and gold A tapestry to feel and see, impossible to hold. In fact our lives are “tapestries,” and the death of a loved one is a ripping, gaping, bleeding hole in the very midst of that tapestry of our life. How, then, is the tapestry rewoven? It does not, with the mere passage of time, magically pull itself back together.

Rather, it is rewoven only with the initiative, energy, and strength of the survivor reaching in and grasping the torn ends of threads, painfully pulling them back and tying them together. And it is rewoven only with those persons around the survivor cutting threads from their own tapestries and bringing them to the survivor, with love and support and caring and tears and strength, helping to further tie the threads and fill in the gaping hole. So, eventually, the tapestry is rewoven. But that “glitch” is always there, the roughness of that reweaving is, and always will be, apparent. In fact it may be twenty years from now, as the survivor reviews the tapestry of his or her life, or is in a particular setting, or hears a song on the radio, or remembers a special day of the month, that the rewoven seam is seen and felt again, and the survivor remembers and cries, or feels sad, or is touched by the love and caring expressed by those whose threads are apparent there – and that is perfectly normal. We do not recover from a death, but when we allow others to help, we can reweave our tapestry. Take All The Risk Of Life Rabindranath Tagore Taking shelter in the dead is death itself, and only taking all the risk of life to the fullest extent is living. Talking To Grief Denise Levertov Ah, Grief, I should not treat you like a homeless dog who comes to the back door for a crust, for a meatless bone. I should trust you. I should coax you into the house and give you your own corner, a worn mat to lie on, your own water dish. You think I don’t know you’ve been living under my porch. You long for your real place to be readied before winter comes. You need your name, your collar and tag. You need the right to warn off intruders, to consider my house your own and me your person and yourself

my own dog. Testament Anne Morrow Lindbergh ‘But how can I live without you?’ she cried. I left all the world to you when I died; Beauty of earth and air and sea; Leap of a swallow or a tree; Kiss of rain and wind’s embrace; Passion of storm and winter’s face; Touch of feather, flower and stone; Chiseled line of branch or bone; Flight of stars, night’s caravan; Song of crickets – and of man – All these I put in my testament, All these I bequeathed you when I went. ‘But how can I see them without your eyes Or touch them without your hand? How can I hear them without your ear, Without your heart, understand?’ These too, these too, I leave to you! There Is No Death John Luckey McCreery There is no death! The stars go down To rise upon some fairer shore, And bright in heaven’s jeweled crown They shine for evermore. There is no death! The dust we tread Shall change beneath the summer showers To golden grain or mellowed fruit Or rainbow-tinted flowers. There is no death! The leaves may fall, And flowers may fade and pass away; They only wait, through wintry hours, The coming of the May. And ever near us, though unseen, The dear immortal spirits tread; For all the boundless universe Is Life – there are no dead! They Softly Walk Hugh Robert Orr They are not gone who pass Beyond the clasp of hand, Out from the strong embrace, They are but come so close

We need not grope with hands, Nor look to see, nor try To catch the sound of feet. They have put off their shoes Softly to walk by day Within our thoughts, to tread At night our dream-led paths. They are not lost who find The sunset gate, the goal Of all their faithful years. Nor lost are they who reach The summit of their climb, The peak above the clouds And storms. They are not lost Who find the light of sun And stars and God. They are not dead who live In hearts they leave behind In those who they have blessed They live a life again, And shall live through the years Eternal life, and grow Each day more beautiful As time declares their good, Forgets the rest, and proves Their immortality. This Existence Of Ours Buddha This existence of ours is as transient as autumn clouds, To watch the birth and death of beings is like looking at the movements of a dance, A lifetime is like a flash of lightning in the sky, Rushing by, like a torrent down a steep mountain. Those Who Are Gone You Love William Makepeace Thackeray Those who are gone you love. Those who departed loving you love you still and you love them always. They are not really gone, those dear hearts and true; they are only gone into the next room, and you will get up presently and follow them, and yonder door will close upon you and you will be seen no more. A Thought On Death Anna Laetitia Barbauld When life as opening buds is sweet,

And golden hopes the fancy greet, And Youth prepares his joys to meet, Alas! how hard it is to die! When just is seized some valued prize, And duties press, and tender ties Forbid the soul from earth to rise, How awful then it is to die! When, one by one, those ties are torn, And friend from friend is snatched forlorn, And man is left alone to mourn, Ah then, how easy ’tis to die! When faith is firm, and conscience clear, And words of peace the spirit cheer, And visioned glories half appear, ’Tis joy, ’tis triumph then to die. When trembling limbs refuse their weight, And films, slow gathering, dim the sight, And clouds obscure the mental light, ’Tis nature’s precious boon to die. Thoughts That Lie Too Deep For Tears William Wordsworth The Clouds that gather round the setting sun Do take a sober coloring from an eye That hath kept watch o’er man’s mortality; Another race hath been, and other palms are won. Thanks to the human heart by which we live, Thanks to its tenderness, its joys, and fears, To me the meanest flower that blows can give Thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears. From Threnody Ralph Waldo Emerson The south-wind brings Life, sunshine, and desire, And on every mount and meadow Breathes aromatic fire, But over the dead he has no power, The lost, the lost, he cannot restore, And, looking over the hills, I mourn The darling who shall not return. Time And Grief William Lisle Bowles O Time! who know’st a lenient hand to lay Softest on sorrow’s wound, and slowly thence

(Lulling to sad repose the weary sense) The faint pang stealest unperceived away; On thee I rest my only hope at last, And think, when thou hast dried the bitter tear That flows in vain o’er all my soul held dear, I may look back on every sorrow past, And meet life’s peaceful evening with a smile: As some lone bird, at day’s departing hour, Sings in the sunbeam, of the transient shower Forgetful, though its wings are wet the while: Yet ah! how much must this poor heart endure, Which hopes from thee, and thee alone, a cure! Time Does Not Bring Relief Edna St. Vincent Millay Time does not bring relief; you all have lied Who told me time would ease me of my pain! I miss him in the weeping of the rain; I want him at the shrinking of the tide; The old snows melt from every mountain-side, And last year’s leaves are smoke in every lane; But last year’s bitter loving must remain Heaped on my heart, and my old thoughts abide! There are a hundred places where I fear To go, so with his memory they brim. And entering with relief some quiet place Where never fell his foot or shone his face, I say, ‘There is no memory of him here!’ And so stand stricken, so remembering him. A Time Of Thanksgiving Kenneth Patton Let this be a time of thanksgiving for a life lived, and not a brooding upon death. To All Parents Edgar Guest “I’ll lend you for a little time a child of mine,” He said. “For you to love the while he lives and mourn when he is dead, “It may be six or seven years, or twenty-two or three, “But will you, till I call him back, take care of him for me? “He’ll bring his charms to gladden you, but should his stay be brief, “You’ll have his lovely memories, as solace for your grief, “I cannot promise he will stay, since all from earth return, “But there are lessons taught down there I want this child to learn. “I’ve looked the wide world over in my search for teachers true, “And from the throngs that crowd life’s lanes I have selected you. “Now will you give him all your love, nor think the labor vain, “Nor hate me when I come to call to take him back again?”

I fancied that I heard them say: “Dear Lord, Thy will be done! “For all the joy Thy child shall bring, the risk of grief we’ll run. We’ll shelter him with tenderness; we’ll love him while we may, And for happiness we’ve known forever grateful stay. “But should the angels call for him much sooner than we’d planned, “We’ll brave the bitter grief that comes and try to understand.” To Everything There Is A Season Ecclesiastes To everything there is a season, A time for every purpose under heaven: A time to be born, And a time to die… A time to weep, And a time to laugh; A time to mourn, And a time to dance… A time to gain, And a time to lose… To Joy Margaret Mary Gilley Through the morning mist you reached out And touched me into prayer. I felt Your presence: a sea of peace And just a little fear. All joy, Like a white church upon a hill, Shining spire stretching out to heaven And welcoming the glory of a kingdom coming close. For you I could rejoice, for the voice Of angels was almost within hearing; But I could feel the parting void, And I wept because I knew That I must let go my need of you. To Live And Bravely Fight Norbert Capek It is worthwhile for me to live And bravely fight for saintly ideals Although disappointed a thousand times And perhaps even to fall in this fight When everything would seem in vain. Blow, angry winds, through my stony body; You will not conquer my soul. I have lived in the center of eternity, My soul will be eternal. My living was worth it. Whoever has been set upon from all sides,

But with his soul has conquered, Is welcome in the chorus of heroes. Whoever has broken his shackles And given wings to his mind Is marching into a golden future. To Those I Love Isla Paschal Richardson If I should ever leave you whom I love To go along the silent way, Grieve not, Nor speak of me with tears, But laugh and talk of me As if I were beside you there. (I’d come – I’d come, could I but find a way! But would not tears and grief be barriers?) And when you hear a song or See a bird I loved, Please do not let the thought of me be sad... For I am loving you just as I always have... You were so good to me! There are so many things I wanted still to do – So many things to say to you... Remember that I did not fear… It was just leaving you that was so hard to face... We cannot see beyond... But this I know: I love you so – ’twas heaven here with you! Toward Union With A Greater Wholeness Pierre Teilhard de Chardin We struggle against death with all our force, for it is our fundamental duty as living creatures to do so. But when, by virtue of the state of things, death comes, we experience that paradox of faith that causes us to abandon the struggle and affirm death as part of a greater plan for the universe as a whole. To love life so much, and to trust it so completely that we can affirm it even in its final act... this is an attitude that can calm and fortify us. The end is to love extravagantly the life that is greater than any one of us, seeing our own death as a physically necessary passage toward union with a greater wholeness. From To W. P. George Santayana Living you made it goodlier to live, Dead you will make it easier to die. With you a part of me hath passed away;

For in the peopled forest of my mind A tree made leafless by this wintry wind Shall never don again its green array. Chapel and fireside, country road and bay, Have something of their friendliness resigned; Another, if I would, I could not find, And I am grown much older in a day. But yet I treasure in my memory Your gift of charity, your mellow ease, And the dear honor of your amity; For these once mine, my life is rich with these. And I scarce know which part may greater be, – What I keep of you, or you rob of me. Transfiguration Louisa May Alcott Mysterious death! who in a single hour Life’s gold can so refine And by thy art divine Change mortal weakness to immortal power! Bending beneath the weight of eighty years Spent with the noble strife Of a victorious life We watched her fading heavenward, through our tears. But ere the sense of loss our hearts had wrung A miracle was wrought; And swift as happy thought She lived again: brave, beautiful, and young. Age, pain, and sorrow dropped the veils they wore And showed the tender eyes Of angels in disguise, Whose discipline so patiently she bore. The past years brought their harvest rich and fair, While memory and love, Together, fondly wove A golden garland for the silver hair. How could we mourn like those who are bereft, When every pang of grief Found balm for its relief In counting up the treasures she had left? Faith that withstood the shocks of toil and time, Hope that defied despair, Patience that conquered care, And loyalty, whose courage was sublime… We thought to weep, but sing for joy instead, Full of the grateful peace That follows her release; For nothing but the weary dust lies dead. The Trees Philip Larkin

The trees are coming into leaf Like something almost being said; The recent buds relax and spread, Their greenness is a kind of grief. Is it that they are born again And we grow old? No, they die too, Their yearly trick of looking new Is written down in rings of grain. Yet still the unresting castles thresh In fullgrown thickness every May. Last year is dead, they seem to say, Begin afresh, afresh, afresh. Turn Again To Life Mary Lee Hall If I should die and leave you here awhile, Be not like others, sore undone, who keep Long vigils by the silent dust, and weep. For my sake, turn again to life and smile, Nerving thy heart and trembling hand to do Something to comfort weaker hearts than thine. Complete these dear unfinished tasks of mine And I perchance may therein comfort you. The Turning Hour Of Life Phillips Brooks There are no times in life when opportunity, the chance to be and to do, gathers so richly about the soul as when it has to suffer. Then everything depends upon whether the man looks to the lower or the higher helps… If he looks to God, the hour of suffering is the turning hour of life. A Valediction: Forbidding Mourning John Donne As virtuous men pass mildly away, And whisper to their souls to go, Whilst some of their sad friends do say The breath goes now, and some say, No: So let us melt, and make no noise, No tear-floods, nor sigh-tempests move, ’Twere profanation of our joys To tell the laity our love. Moving of th’ earth brings harms and fears, Men reckon what it did and meant, But trepidation of the spheres,

Though greater far, is innocent. Dull sublunary lovers’ love (Whose soul is sense) cannot admit Absence, because it doth remove Those things which elemented it. But we by a love so much refined That our selves know not what it is, Inter-assur’d of the mind, Care less, eyes, lips, and hands to miss. Our two souls therefore, which are one, Though I must go, endure not yet A breach, but an expansion, Like gold to airy thinness beat. If they be two, they are two so As stiff twin compasses are two; Thy soul, the fixed foot, makes no show To move, but doth, if the other do. And though it in the centre sit, Yet when the other far doth roam, It leans, and hearkens after it, And grows erect, as that comes home. Such wilt thou be to me, who must Like th’ other foot, obliquely run; Thy firmness makes my circle just, And makes me end, where I begun. Vitae Summa Brevis Ernest Dowson They are not long, the weeping and the laughter, Love and desire and hate: I think they have no portion in us after We pass the gate. They are not long, the days of wine and roses: Out of a misty dream Our path emerges for a while, then closes Within a dream. We Bereaved Are Not Alone Helen Keller We bereaved are not alone… When it seems that our sorrow is too great to be borne, let us think of the great family of the heavy-hearted into which our grief has given us entrance, and inevitably, we will feel about us their arms, their sympathy, their understanding. Believe, when you are most unhappy, that there is something for you to do in the world. So long as you can sweeten another’s pain, life is not in vain.

We Cannot Judge Viktor Frankl We cannot judge a biography by its length, Nor by the number of pages in it. We must judge it by the richness of its contents Sometimes those unfinished are among the most poignant… We cannot judge a song by its duration Nor by the number of its notes We must judge it by the way it touches and lifts our souls Sometimes those unfinished are among the most beautiful… And when something has enriched your life And when its melody lingers on in your heart Is it unfinished? Or is it endless? We Grow Accustomed To The Dark Emily Dickinson We grow accustomed to the Dark, When light is put away, As when the neighbour holds the lamp To witness her Goodbye. A moment we uncertain step For the newness of the night, Then, fit our vision to the Dark, And meet the road erect. And so of larger Darknesses, Those evenings of the brain, When not a Moon discloses a sign, Or star, come out, within. The Bravest grope a little, And sometimes hit a tree, Directly in the forehead, But as they learn to see, Either Darkness alters Or something in the sight Adjusts itself to Midnight, And life steps almost straight. The Well Of Grief David Whyte Those who will not slip beneath the still surface on the well of grief turning downward through its black water to the place we cannot breathe will never know the source from which we drink, the secret water, cold and clear, nor find in the darkness glimmering the small round coins

thrown by those who wished for something else. We Need Not Fear The Coming Of The Dark Edward Stanley of Alderley “Old men forget!” Aye! It may well be so: But youth remembers all the magic spun And woven in the warm fraternal glow Of your companionship. Your day is done? It is not true. You know you left behind A memory of courage which the years Can but increase. And we, your heirs will find That in good truth there’s nothing here for tears. So be it. This your legacy to youth – To make the best of all your days, And finally to recognize the truth That you have shown us, silhouetted, stark, That though we loved the sunlight’s summer rays We need not fear the coming of the dark. We Will Grieve Not William Wordsworth What though the radiance which was once so bright Be now for ever taken from my sight, Though nothing can bring back the hour Of splendor in the grass, of glory in the flower; We will grieve not, rather find Strength in what remains behind; In the primal sympathy Which having been must ever be; In the soothing thoughts that spring Out of human suffering; In the faith that looks through death, In years that bring the philosophic mind. What Is It To Die? Kahlil Gibran What is it to die but to stand naked in the wind, and to melt into the sun? And what is it to cease breathing but to free the breath from its restless tides that it may rise and expand and seek God unencumbered? Only when you drink from the river of silence, shall you indeed sing. And when you have reached the mountaintop, then you shall

begin to climb. And when the earth shall claim your limbs, then you shall truly dance. What Will You Give? Rabindranath Tagore What will you give When death knocks at your door? The fullness of my life – The sweet wine of autumn days and summer nights, My little hoard gleaned through the years, And hours rich with living. These will be my gift When death knocks at my door. When I Am Dead, My Dearest Christina Rossetti When I am dead, my dearest, Sing no sad songs for me; Plant thou no roses at my head, Nor shady cypress tree. Be the green grass above me With showers and dewdrops wet; And if thou wilt, remember, And if thou wilt, forget. I shall not see the shadows, I shall not feel the rain; I shall not hear the nightingale Sing on, as if in pain; And dreaming through the twilight That doth not rise nor set, Haply I may remember, And haply may forget. When I Die Merrit Malloy When I die Give what’s left of me away To children And old men that wait to die. And if you need to cry, Cry for your brother Walking the street beside you. And when you need me, Put your arms Around anyone And give them

What you need to give to me. I want to leave you something, Something better Than words Or sounds. Look for me In the people I’ve known Or loved, And if you cannot give me away, At least let me live on your eyes And not on your mind. You can love me most By letting Hands touch hands, By letting Bodies touch bodies, And by letting go Of children That need to be free. Love doesn’t die, People do. So, when all that’s left of me Is love, Give me away. When I Die And Leave Behind Author unknown When I die and leave behind This earth I love These trees, this sky, The pounding sea, The yearly hope of spring, Cry not for me, Rejoice. My soul has wings And in its freedom sings. From When Lilacs Last In The Dooryard Bloom’d Walt Whitman Come, lovely and soothing Death, Undulate round the world, serenely arriving, arriving, In the day, in the night, to all, to each, Sooner or later, delicate Death. Prais’d be the fathomless universe, For life and joy, and for objects and knowledge curious; And for love, sweet love – but praise! praise! praise! For the sure-enwinding arms of cool-enfolding Death. Dark Mother, always gliding near with soft feet, Have none chanted for thee a chant of fullest welcome? Then I chant it for thee – I glorify thee above all;

I bring thee a song that when thou must indeed come, come unfalteringly. Approach, strong Deliveress! When it is so – when thou hast taken them, I joyously sing the dead, Lost in the loving, floating ocean of thee, Laved in the flood of thy bliss, O Death. From me to thee glad serenades, Dances for thee I propose, saluting thee – adornments and feastings for thee; And the sights of the open landscape and the high-spread sky are fitting, And life and the fields, and the huge and thoughtful night. The night, in silence, under many a star; The ocean shore, and the husky whispering wave, whose voice I know; And the soul turning to thee, O vast and well-veil’d Death, And the body gratefully nestling close to thee. Over the tree-tops I float thee a song! Over the rising and sinking waves – over the myriad fields, and the prairies wide; Over the dense-pack’d cities all, and the teeming wharves and ways, I float this carol with joy, with joy to thee, O Death! When My Hour Is Come George William Russell When my hour is come Let no teardrop fall And no darkness hover Round me where I lie. Let the vastness call One who was its lover, Let me breathe the sky. Where the lordly light Walks along the world, And its silent tread Leaves the grasses bright, Leaves the flowers uncurled, Let me to the dead Breathe a gay goodnight. When We Finally Know We Are Dying Sogyal Rinpoche) When we finally know we are dying, and all other sentient beings are dying with us, we start to have a burning, almost heartbreaking sense of the fragility and preciousness of each moment and each being, and from this can grow a deep, clear, limitless compassion for all beings. Address To The Living John Holmes

We live, we are elected now by time, Few out of many not yet come to birth, And many dead, to use the daylight now, To stand up under the sun upon the earth. Then break the silence with a voice of praise; Open the door that opens toward the sky; Press mind and body hard against this world, Before we fall asleep, before we die. The Widower Rudyard Kipling For a season there must be pain – For a little, little space I shall lose the sight of her face, Take back the old life again While She is at rest in her place. For a season this pain must endure, For a little, little while I shall sigh more often than smile Till Time shall work me a cure, And the pitiful days beguile. For that season we must be apart, For a little length of years, Till my life’s last hour nears, And, above the beat of my heart, I hear Her voice in my ears. But I shall not understand – Being set on some later love, Shall not know her for whom I strove, Till she reach me forth her hand, Saying, ‘Who but I have the right?’ And out of a troubled night Shall draw me safe to the land. Good News - Bad News May the face of every good news And the back of every bad news Be toward us. On the Saddest Days May the saddest day of your future be no worse Than the happiest day of your past Shining Through The Tears It's easy to be pleasant when life flows by like a song. But the man worth while is the one who can smile When everything goes dead wrong.

For the test of the heart is trouble and it always comes with years. And the smile that is worth the praises of earth Is the smile that shines through the tears. Weeping and Sorrow and you shall see that in truth you are weeping for that which has been your delight. Leaving Indelible Imprints I know for certain that we never lose the people we love, even to death. They continue to participate in every act, thought and decision we make. Their love leaves an indelible imprint in our memories. We find comfort in knowing that our lives have been enriched by having shared their love. Remembering Past Meetings Oh, here's to other meetings, And merry greetings then; And here's to those we've drunk with, But never can again. Being Alive May we all be alive this time in twelve months. Live in Hearts To live in the hearts we leave behind is not to die. Comforting Sun May the sunshine of comfort dispel the clouds of despair. Rainbows, Laughter and Tears May you find Rainbows after every storm, May you remember the laughter Smiles in the tears Taken From Me Angie Flores I'm sitting here in my room, looking at your picture. Wondering why you couldn't be a part of my future. Uncontrollable tears stream down my face, while my heart beat starts to race.

Asking god why he took you from my life, it was more painful than stabbing me in the heart with a knife. I still needed you here you were the one to make everything so clear. you are apart of me and I am apart of you when you died a part of me died too. I never knew how hard it was to loose someone you love until the day you went to heaven above. Even though I can't see, I know your up there watching over me. I miss you more and more everyday and all I can do is pray. In my heart you shall forever remain. You Will See Them Someday Stephan Banks when you lose someone it can be hard to take the pain that you feel when your heart has to break the memories you keep are all in your mind as you search your soul for more to find the way their skin felt the smell of their hair as you keep thinking over and shedding a tear the years may pass, memories fade to grey but your getting no younger you'll see them someday unconditional love is never forgotten look deep in your heart it is there at the bottom alone in the dark sometimes in fear voices from loved ones your hoping to hear more years pass, they soon fly by but your always looked upon from those in the sky surrounded by clouds and pure white doves they listen and watch sending you love just remember one thing as you sit and you pray they will be there to greet you, you will see them someday. When Cardinals Fly Cardinals fly o'er mountain streams Aloft with all my hopes and dreams To see you both off on your own I wish you all the joy I’ve known The walks we took were many But these next steps are few Alone you walk this final path Then turn and leave as two If ever should you need me Just take a walk outside And cast your thoughts upon the winds And watch the cardinals fly

In My Mind Jenn Farrell Somewhere in my dreams tonight I'll see you standing there You look at me with a smile "Life isn't always fair" You say you were chosen for his garden His preciously hand picked bouquet "God really needed me, That's why I couldn't stay" It's said to be that angels Are sent from above I've always had my angel My brother - whose heart was filled with love Wherever the ocean meets the sky There will be memories of you and I When I look up at that sky so blue All I see are visions of you