I Will Hold You Again With My Arms Open Wide on My Chest You Will Rest Lyrics

Poetry and Verses for Funerals and Epitaphs

Here is a list of cute and comforting poems and verses for funerals and memorial services. I have included poems for mothers, fathers, brothers, sisters, husbands, wives and children. They are non in any detail order or category as every person interprets a poem in their ain style. Poems can besides provide inspiration for headstone epitaphs.

Life is a pure flame, and we live past an invisible sun inside us.

Sir Thomas Browne, Urn Burial, 1658

Goodnight

Goodnight; ensured release,
Imperishable peace,
Take these for yours,
While body of water abides, and land,
And earth's foundations stand up,
and heaven endures.

When globe's foundations abscond,
nor sky nor state nor sea
At all is found
Content y'all, let them burn:
It is not your business concern;
Slumber on, sleep audio.

A.E Housman

Music, When Soft Voices Die

Music, when soft voices die,
Vibrates in the memory -
Odours, when sweetness violets sicken,
Live within the sense they quicken.

Rose leaves, when the rose is dead,
Are heap'd for the belovèd's bed;
And so thy thoughts, when m art gone,
Honey itself shall slumber on.

Percy Bysshe Shelley

Idyll

In the gray summer garden I shall find you
With twenty-four hour period-suspension and the morn hills behind you lot.
There will be rain-wet roses; stir of wings;
And downwards the woods a thrush that wakes and sings.
Not from the past you'll come, but from that deep
Where beauty murmurs to the soul asleep:
And I shall know the sense of life re-built-in
From dreams into the mystery of morning
Where gloom and brightness meet. And standing at that place
Till that calm song is washed, at concluding nosotros'll share
The league-spread, quiring symphonies that are
Joy in the world, and peace, and dawn'south one star.

Siegfried Sassoon

The Noble Nature

It is not growing like a tree
in bulk, doth make Man better be;
or standing long an oak 3 hundred yr,
to fall a log at concluding, dry out, bald, and sere;

A lily of a 24-hour interval
is fairer in May,
although information technology fall and die that night-
Information technology was the plant and flower of Light.
In small proportions we just beauties meet:
and in short measures life may perfect exist.

Ben Jonson

from I Loved Her Like the Leaves

I loved her like the leaves,
The lush leaves of spring
That weighed the branches of the willows
Standing on the jutting depository financial institution
Where nosotros ii walked together
While she was of this world.
My life was built on her;
But homo cannot flout
The laws of this globe.

To the wide fields where the heat haze shimmers
Hidden in a white cloud,
White every bit white mulberry scarf,
She soared similar the morning bird
Hidden from our world like the setting sun.
The child she left as token
Whimpers, begs for nutrient; but always
Finding aught that I might requite,
Like birds that gather rice-heads in their beaks,
I pick him up and clasp him in my arms.
By the pillows where we lay,
My wife and I, as one,
The daylight I pass lonely till the dusk,
The blackness nighttime I lie sighing till the dawn.
I grieve, nevertheless know no remedy:
I pine, even so have no way to meet her.

Kakinonoto Hitomaro

No Coward Soul Is Mine

No coward soul is mine
No trembler in the world'south storm-troubled sphere
I run into Heaven'due south glories shine
And Faith shines equal arming me from Fear

O God within my chest
Almighty ever-present Deity
Life, that in me hast rest,
As I Undying Life, accept power in Thee

Vain are the one thousand creeds
That move men's hearts, unutterably vain,
Worthless equally withered weeds
Or idlest froth among the boundless main

To waken dubiety in i
Holding and so fast past thy infinity,
So surely anchored on
The steadfast rock of Immortality.

With broad-embracing love
Thy spirit animates eternal years
Pervades and broods above,
Changes, sustains, dissolves, creates and rears

Though earth and moon were gone
And suns and universes ceased to be
And One thousand wert left alone
Every Existence would exist in thee

At that place is not room for Death
Nor cantlet that his might could render void
Since thou art Being and Breath
And what grand fine art may never be destroyed.

Emily Bronte

The Journeying of My Life

It was beautiful as long as it lasted, the journey of my life.
I have no regrets whatsoever
save the pain I'll leave backside.
Those dear hearts who dear and care …
and the strings pulling at the heart and soul …
The strong arms that held me up
when my ain force permit me down.
At every turning of my life I came across expert friends,
friends who stood by me
even when time raced by me.
Farewell, farewell my friend.
I grin and bid you cheerio.
No, shed no tears for I demand them not.
All I need is your smile.
If y'all feel deplorable do think of me for that'due south what I'll similar.
When you live in the hearts of those you love
remember so, you never dice.

Rabindranath Tagore

When I die I want your hands on my eyes

When I die I want your hands on my eyes:
I desire the light and the wheat of your beloved hands
to pass their freshness over me ane more fourth dimension
to feel the smoothness that changed my destiny.

I desire you to alive while I wait for y'all, asleep,
I want for your ears to become on hearing the wind,
for you to smell the ocean that we loved together
and for you to keep walking the sand where nosotros walked.

I desire for what I love to proceed living
and as for you I loved yous and sang you to a higher place everything,
for that, keep flowering, flowery one,

so that you achieve all that my love orders for you,
so that my shadow passes through your hair,
so that they know by this the reason for my song.

Pablo Neruda (translated from Spanish)

Say Non, They Dice, Those Splendid Souls

Say not, they dice, those splendid souls,
Whose life is winged with purpose fine;
Who get out usa, pointed to the goals;
Who learn to conquer and resign.
Such cannot die; they vanquish time,
And fill the world with glowing light,
Making the human life sublime
With memories of their secret might.
They cannot die whose lives are part
Of the cracking life that is to exist;
Whose hearts trounce with the earth's neat eye,
And throb with its high intensity.
Those souls are corking, who, dying, gave
A gift of greater life to man;
Death stands abashed before the brave;
They ain a life death cannot ban.

Betimes.

Peace, My Eye

Peace, my centre, allow the time for
the parting be sugariness.
Allow it not exist a decease simply abyss.
Let honey cook into memory and pain
into songs.
Let the flight through the heaven cease
in the folding of the wings over the
nest.
Allow the final touch of your hands be
gentle like the flower of the nighttime.
Stand up nonetheless, O Beautiful Stop, for a
moment, and say your last words in
silence.
I bow to y'all and agree up my lamp
to light you lot on your way.

Rabindranath Tagore

A Song Of Living

Because I have loved life, I shall have no sorrow to die.
I have sent up my gladness on wings, to exist lost in the blue of the sky.
I accept run and leaped with the rain, I have taken the wind to my chest.
My cheek like a drowsy child to the face of the earth I have pressed.
Because I accept loved life, I shall take no sorrow to die.

I take kissed young Beloved on the lips, I accept heard his vocal to the end,
I have struck my hand like a seal in the loyal mitt of a friend.
I have known the peace of sky, the comfort of work done well.
I have longed for death in the darkness and risen live out of hell.
Considering 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 chore I must leave undone.
I know that no flower, nor flint was in vain on the path I trod.
Every bit 1 looks on a face up through a window, through life I have looked on God,
Because I accept loved life, I shall have no sorrow to dice.

Amelia Josephine Burr

Honey Sonnet: XVII

I don't honey you as if you were a rose of salt, topaz,
or arrow of carnations that propagate fire:
I love you as one loves certain obscure things,
secretly, between the shadow and the soul.
I dear you as the found that doesn't bloom but carries
the light of those flowers, subconscious, within itself,
and thanks to your love the tight aroma that arose
from the earth lives dimly in my body.
I dearest y'all without knowing how, or when, or from where,
I dearest you straight without issues or pride:
I love you like this because I don't know whatever other fashion to beloved,
except in this form in which I am non nor are you lot,
then close that your mitt upon my chest is mine,
so close that your eyes close with my dreams.

Pablo Neruda (translated by Marking Eisner)

Afterglow

I'd like the retentivity of me to be a happy one.

I'd like to leave an afterglow of smiles when life is done.
I'd like to get out an repeat whispering softly down the ways,
Of happy times and laughing times and bright and sunny days.
I'd like the tears of those who grieve, to dry before the sun;
Of happy memories that I leave when life is washed.

Helen Lowrie Marshall

from The Garden of Proserpine

We are not sure of sorrow,
And joy was never sure;
To-day will die to-morrow;
Time stoops to no man's lure;

And honey, grown faint and fretful,
With lips only half regretful
Sighs, and with optics forgetful
Weeps that no loves endure.

From too much love of living,
From promise and fear set gratis,
We thank with brief thanksgiving
Whatever gods may be

That no life lives for always;
That dead men rise up never;
That even the weariest river
Winds somewhere prophylactic to bounding main.

Then star nor lord's day shall waken,
Nor whatsoever modify of low-cal:
Nor audio of waters shaken,
Nor any sound or sight:

Nor wintry leaves nor vernal,
Nor days nor things diurnal;
Just the sleep eternal
In an eternal night.

Algernon Charles Swinburne

from Song of Myself

I depart as air, I shake my white locks at the runaway lord's day,
I effuse my flesh in eddies, and drift it in lacy jags.

I bequeath myself to the clay to abound from the grass I love,
If you want me again expect for me nether your boot-soles.

You will inappreciably know who I am or what I mean,
But I shall be skillful health to you nevertheless,

Missing me one place? Search another.
I stop somewhere waiting for yous.

Walt Whitman

She is gone (He is gone)

You can shed tears that she is gone
Or you can smile because she has lived
You lot tin shut your eyes and pray that she will come back
Or you lot tin open your eyes and run across all that she has left
Your heart tin can be empty considering yous can't see her
Or you can exist total of the love that you shared
You can plough your back on tomorrow and live yesterday
Or you tin can be happy for tomorrow because of yesterday
You can remember her and only that she is gone
Or you can cherish her retentiveness and let information technology live on
Y'all can cry and close your mind, exist empty and turn your back
Or you lot tin practice what she would want: smile, open your eyes, dearest and go on.

David Harkins

There is no night

There is no night without a dawning
No winter without a spring
And beyond the dark horizon
Our hearts will once more sing ….
For those who go out us for a while
Have only gone away
Out of a restless, intendance worn globe
Into a brighter 24-hour interval

Helen Steiner Rice

Away

I cannot say and I volition 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 country;
And left us dreaming how very fair
Its needs must be, since she lingers there.

And you–oh you lot, who the wildest yearn
From the old-time step and the glad render–
Think of her faring on, as love
In the dearest of there, as the love of hither
Call back of her even so the same way, I say;
She is non dead, she is just abroad.

James Whitcomb Riley

Epitaph On A Friend

An honest man here lies at residue,
The friend of man, the friend of truth,
The friend of age, and guide of youth:
Few hearts like his, with virtue warm'd,
Few heads with knowledge so inform'd;
If at that place'southward another world, he lives in bliss;
If at that place is none, he made the best of this.

Robert Burns

The Practiced

The good are vulnerable
Every bit whatever bird in flying,
They practise non recall of safety,
Are bullheaded to possible extinction
And when most vulnerable
Are virtually themselves.
The good are real as the sun,
Are best perceived through clouds
Of casual corruption
That cannot kill the luminous sufficiency
That shines on city, sea and wilderness,
Fastidiously revealing
Ane homo to another,
Who yet volition non accept
Responsibilities of low-cal.
The adept incline to praise,
To have the knack of seeing that
The best is not destroyed
Although forever threatened.
The good go naked in all weathers,
And by their nakedness rebuke
The pocket-sized protective sanities
That hide men from themselves.
The proficient are difficult to come across
Though open up, rare, destructible;
Always, they retain a kind of youth,
The vulnerable grace
Of any bird in flight,
Content to be itself,
Accomplished chief and potential victim,
Accepting what the earth or sky intends.
I think that I know one or ii
Among my friends.

Brendan Kennelly

Slumber Song

Sleep; and my song shall build about your bed
A paradise of dimness. Y'all shall feel
The folding of tired wings; and peace will dwell
Throned in your silence: and one hour shall agree
Summer, and midnight, and immensity
Lulled to forgetfulness. For, where you dream,
The stately gloom of foliage shall embower
Your slumbering idea with tapestries of bluish.
And at that place shall be no retention of the sky,
Nor sunlight with its cruelty of swords.
But, to your soul that sinks from deep to deep
Through drowned and glimmering color, Fourth dimension shall be
But dull rhythmic swaying; and your breath;
And roses in the darkness; and my beloved.

Siegfried Sassoon

While Waiting for Thee

Don't weep at my grave,
For I am non there,
I've a date with a butterfly
To trip the light fantastic in the air.
I'll be singing in the sunshine,
Wild and free,
Playing tag with the wind,
While I'k waiting for thee.
The Condolement and Sugariness of Peace
After the clouds, the sunshine,
after the winter, the spring,
later on the shower, the rainbow,
for life is a changeable thing.
After the night, the morning,
bidding all darkness stop,
after life's cares and sorrows,
the comfort and sugariness of peace.

Helen Steiner Rice

Everything Passes And Vanishes

Everything passes and vanishes;
Everything leaves its trace;
And ofttimes you see in a stride
What you lot could non run into in a face.

William Allingham

High Flying

Oh! I have slipped the surly bonds of earth,
And danced the skies on laughter-silvered wings;
Sunward I've climbed, and joined the tumbling mirth
Of dominicus-divide clouds, --and washed a hundred things
You lot take not dreamed of --Wheeled and soared and swung
High in the sunlit silence. Hov'ring there
I've chased the shouting wind along, and flung
My eager craft through footless halls of air...
Up, upwards the long, febrile, called-for bluish
I've topped the wind-swept heights with easy grace
Where never lark or even hawkeye flew --
And, while with silent lifting mind I've trod
The high untrespassed sanctity of space,
Put out my mitt, and touched the face of God.

John Gillespie Magee

from Burnt Norton, Four Quartets

Time present and time past
Are both perhaps present in time futurity,
And time future contained in time past.
If all fourth dimension is eternally present
All fourth dimension is unredeemable.
What might accept been is an brainchild
Remaining a perpetual possibility
Only in a earth of speculation.
What might take been and what has been
Betoken to i terminate, which is always present.
Footfalls echo in the memory
Down the passage which we did not accept
Towards the door we never opened
Into the rose-garden.

T.S. Elliot

By Herself and Her Friends

If I should become earlier the rest of you
Interruption non a bloom nor inscribe a rock,
Nor when I'm gone speak in a Sunday voice
But be the usual selves that I take known.
Weep if you lot must, Departing is hell,
But Life goes on, And so sing also.

Joyce Grenfell

Where's She Gone?

Where's she gone, the one nosotros knew,
The one we knew and loved,
Who knew us all and loved united states of america all –
Where at present is all that dearest?

Where now her smiling? Where now her frown?
Her bright, resounding laugh?
Ah, all are gone, by time undone;
All that was her is past.

Down the stream we drifted,
And saw her on the shore;
Around a curve we drifted,
And saw her then no more.

And notwithstanding still she stands at that place -
Notwithstanding stands beside the shore.

Oliver Wright

Crossing the Bar

Sunset and evening star,
And one articulate call for me!
And may there be no moaning of the bar,
When I put out to body of water,

But such a tide equally moving seems asleep,
Too full for sound and foam,
When that which drew from out the boundless deep
Turns again domicile.

Twilight and evening bell,
And after that the dark!
And may there exist no sadness of farewell,
When I embark;

For tho' from out our bourne of Time and Identify
The flood may bear me far,
I promise to see my Pilot face to face
When I have crost the bar.

Lord Alfred Tennyson

from Trivial Gidding, Four Quartets

Nosotros shall not finish from exploration
And the end of all our exploring
Volition be to arrive where we started
And know the place for the first fourth dimension.
Through the unknown, remembered gate
When the last of earth left to find
Is that which was the outset;
At the source of the longest river
The voice of the hidden waterfall
And the children in the apple-tree
Not known, because not looked for
But heard, half-heard, in the stillness
Betwixt two waves of the body of water.
Quick now, hither, now, always-
A condition of complete simplicity
(Costing less than everything)
And all shall be well and
All way of thing shall be well
When the tongues of flames are in-folded
Into the crowned knot of fire
And the fire and the rose are one.

T.S.Eliot

The Wild Iris

At the finish of my suffering
there was a door.

Hear me out: that which you lot phone call expiry
I remember.

Overhead, noises, branches of the pine shifting.
And then nothing. The weak sun
flickered over the dry surface.

Information technology is terrible to survive
as consciousness
buried in the dark earth.

Then it was over: that which you fear, being
a soul and unable
to speak, ending abruptly, the stiff globe
bending a little. And what I took to be
birds darting in low shrubs.

You who do non remember
passage from the other world
I tell you I could speak again: any
returns from oblivion returns
to notice a voice:

from the centre of my life
a great fountain, deep blue
shadows on azure seawater.

Louise Gluck

They Are Not Dead

They are not expressionless,
Who leave us this great heritage
Of remembered joy.

They still alive in our hearts,
In the happiness nosotros knew,
In the dreams we shared.

They still exhale,
In the lingering fragrance windblown,
From their favourite flowers.

They still smile in the moonlight'south silver
And laugh in the sunlight'south sparkling gilded.

They nonetheless speak in the echoes of words
We've heard them say again and again.

They withal movement,
In the rhythm of waving grasses,
In the trip the light fantastic toe of the tossing branches.

They are not dead;
Their retentiveness is warm in our hearts,
Comfort in our sorrow.

They are non apart from us,
But a part of the states
For love is eternal,
And those we love shall be with us
Throughout all eternity.

Betimes

In Remembrance

You gave me life
To live as I please,
You gave me love and
Support to follow my dreams.
Your dazzler lives
Forever deep in my soul,
The memory of your dearest
Fills my heart
And I am never solitary.

Christine Currah

Loss

Something'due south dead inside me.
Some yesterday is slain.
My eye is hung upon a cross,
my thoughts are dull with pain.
And yet in that location is within me
a hope I tin can't explicate
For in the darkness I tin see
God dancing in the rain.
I surrender to the mystery
of loss that turns to fain.
The little seed of wheat must dice
to become a field of grain,
and I know it'southward in this time of grief,
that Christ is risen again
For in the darkness I can see
God dancing in the rain.

Joy Cowley

Gaellic Approving

May the route ascension upwardly to run across you.
May the wind be e'er at your dorsum.
May the sun polish warm upon your face up;
the rains fall soft upon your fields
and until we meet again,
may God hold yous in the palm of His hand.

Traditional

from God of the Open Air

These are the things I prize
And hold of dearest worth:
Light of the sapphire skies,
Peace of the silent hills,
Shelter of forests, comfort of the grass,
Music of birds, murmur of little rills,
Shadow of clouds that swiftly pass,
And, after showers,
The olfactory property of flowers
And of the good brown earth,--
And best of all, along the style, friendship and mirth.

And so let me continue
These treasures of the humble heart
In true possession, owning them by love;
And when at last I can no longer move
Among them freely, but must office
From the dark-green fields and from the waters clear,
Let me not creep
Into some darkened room and hide
From all that makes the earth so bright and dear;
But throw the windows wide
To welcome in the light;
And while I squeeze a well-beloved paw,
Let me once again take sight
Of the deep sky and the far-smiling land,--
So gently fall on sleep,
And exhale my trunk back to Nature's care,
My spirit out to thee, God of the open air.

Henry Van Dyke

But a Piffling While

We were together
Only a picayune while,
And we believed our love
Would terminal a thousand years.

Yakamochi

I Was Loved, Therefore I Am

I was loved, therefore I am,
And in being loved, I am treasured.
When I peeled away my layers,
And all that was left was my essence,
The bareness of me,
I was still loved.
I was loved, therefore I am,
And in being loved I was able to grow.
In my mistakes held,
In my successes celebrated,
I was always loved.
I was loved therefore I am,
And in existence loved I learned to beloved.
In the sunday filled solar day,
In the ecstasy of the night,
I was loved and loved others.
To exist loved is all you demand:
I was loved....and so, I will always be.

Ana Draper

The Divinity That Stirs Inside Us

It must be so. Plato, thou reasonest well!
Else whence this pleasing hope, this fond desire,
This longing after immortality?
Or whence this cloak-and-dagger dread, and inward horror
of falling into naught? Why shrinks the soul
Back on herself, and startles at destruction?
'Tis the divinity that stirs within united states.
'Tis Heaven itself that points out an hereafter
and intimates eternity to human being.

From Soliloquy on Immortality TRANSLATED BY JOSEPH ADDISON

Later on I Take Gone

Speak my proper noun softly after I have gone.
I loved the serenity 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 hurting
And last and all-time, a gentle express mirth with friends,
All bitterness foregone, and evening almost.
If nosotros be kind and faithful when day ends,
We shall not see that ragged starveling 'fearfulness'
As one by i we take the unknown mode
Speak my proper noun softly - there'south no more than to say

Vera Arlett

Everything Exists

For everything exists and not
one sigh nor grinning nor tear,
one pilus nor particle
of dust, not ane can pass away.

William Blake

I Sing the Body Electric

I sing the trunk electric,
The armies of those I love engirth me and I engirth them,
They will non let me off till I go with them, answer to them,
And discorrupt them, and charge them full with the charge of the soul.

I take perceiv'd that to be with those I like is enough,
To stop in company with the rest at evening is enough,
To exist surrounded by beautiful, curious, animate, laughing flesh is enough,
To pass amidst them or touch whatsoever i, or balance my arm always so lightly round his or her cervix for a moment, what is this then?
I do not inquire any more please, I swim in it as in a sea.

Death Is Zip At All

Death is nothing at all.
It does not count.
I have merely slipped away into the next room.
Nothing has happened.

Everything remains exactly equally information technology was.
I am I, and you lot are you,
and the old life that nosotros lived then fondly together is untouched, unchanged.
Any we were to each other, that we are yet.

Call me by the erstwhile familiar name.
Speak of me in the piece of cake 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 lilliputian jokes that we enjoyed together.
Play, smiling, think of me, pray for me.
Allow my name exist ever the household word that it always was.
Let information technology be spoken without an try, without the ghost of a shadow upon information technology.

Life means all that it e'er meant.
It is the aforementioned as it ever was.
There is accented and unbroken continuity.
What is this death only a negligible accident?

Why should I be out of heed because I am out of sight?
I am but waiting for you lot, for an interval,
somewhere very nearly,
just round the corner.

All is well.
Zippo is hurt; aught is lost.
One brief moment and all will be equally it was earlier.
How we shall laugh at the trouble of parting when nosotros meet again!

Henry Scott-Holland

The Darker the Night

The darker the night,
The brighter the stars,
The deeper the grief,
The closer is God.

Fyodor Dostoevsky

from The Night

There is in God (some say)
A deep simply dazzling darkness, every bit men here
Say information technology is belatedly and dusky, because they
Come across non all clear;
O for that night! where I in Him
Might live invisible and dim.

Henry Vaughan

Heaven Lies Almost U.s.a.

Ye blesséd Creatures, I have heard the telephone call
Ye to each other make; I see
The heavens laugh with y'all in your jubilee;
My heart is at your festival,
My head hath its coronal,
The fulness of your bliss, I feel--I experience information technology all.
O evil day! if I were sullen
While Globe herself is adorning
This sweet May-morning;
And the children are culling,
On every side
In a thousand valleys far and broad,
Fresh flowers; while the sunday shines warm,
And the babe leaps up on his mother'due south arm:-
I hear, I hear, with joy I hear!
--But there's a tree, of many, ane,
A single field which I have look'd upon,
Both of them speak of something that is gone:
The pansy at my feet
Doth the same tale echo:
Whither is fled the visionary gleam?
Where is it now, the celebrity and the dream?
Our birth is but a slumber and a forgetting;
The Soul that rises with us, our life's Star,
Hath had elsewhere its setting,
And cometh from afar;
Not in entire forgetfulness,
And not in utter nakedness,
But trailing clouds of glory do we come
From God, who is our home:
Sky lies about us in our infancy!
Shades of the prison-house begin to close
Upon the growing Boy,
But he beholds the lite, and whence it flows,
He sees it in his joy;
The Youth, who daily further from the east
Must travel, still is Nature's priest,
And by the vision first-class
Is on his mode attended;
At length the Man perceives it dice away,
And fade into the light of common day.

William Wordsworth FROM INTIMATIONS ON IMMORTALITY

Miss me, only let me go

When I come to the cease of the road,
And the sun has set for me,
I desire no rites in gloom-filled rooms,
Why cry for a soul prepare gratuitous?
Miss me a picayune--simply non too long,
And non with your head bowed low;
Remember the beloved that we in one case shared
Miss me--but let me go.
For this is a journey that we all must take,
And each must become lone.
Information technology'southward all a part of the Principal's plan,
A pace on the route to domicile.
When y'all are lonely and ill at middle,
Go to the friends we know,
And decorated your sorrows in doing good deeds.
Miss me - only allow me go.

Betty Miller

Your Mother Is Ever With Yous

Your Mother Is Always With Y'all
She's the whisper of the leaves every bit you walk downwardly the street.
She'due south the smell of certain foods you remember, flowers yous selection, the fragrance of life itself.
She's the cool hand on your brow when you're not feeling well.
She's your breath in the air on a common cold winters' 24-hour interval.
She is the audio of the rain that lulls yous to sleep, the colors of a rainbow.
She is Christmas morning.
Your mother lives inside your laughter.
She's the place you lot come up from, your starting time home.
She'southward the map y'all follow with every step y'all have.
She's your first dearest, your first friend, even your start enemy.
Merely nothing on Earth can separate yous.
Not time.
Not space.
Not even death

Deborah R Culver, in retentiveness of her mother Joann Force

The Existence of Beloved

I had thought that your death
Was a waste and destruction
A pain of grief hardly to be endured.
I am simply get-go to larn
That your life was a gift and a growing
And a loving left with me,
That desperation of expiry
Destroyed the existence of dear,
But the fact of death
Cannot destroy what has been given.
I am learning to look at your life again
Instead of your decease and your departing.

Marjorie Pizer

The Bright Field

I have seen the sun interruption through
to illuminate a pocket-size field
for a while, and gone my way
and forgotten it. But that was the
pearl of great price, the one field that had
treasure in it. I realise now
that I must give all that I have
to possess it. Life is not hurrying

on to a receding future, nor hankering after
an imagined past. It is the turning
aside similar Moses to the miracle
of the lit bush, to a brightness
that seemed as transitory as your youth
once, just is the eternity that awaits you.

R.S. Thomas

God Chosen Your Name So Softly

God called your proper name so softly
That only you could hear
And no-one heard the footsteps
Of angels drawing near.
It broke our hearts to lose yous
Only you did not go alone
For part of us went with y'all
The day God chosen you domicile.

Anon

The Watcher

She always leaned to watch for us,
Anxious if we were tardily,
In wintertime by the window,
In summer by the gate.

And though we mocked her tenderly,
Who had such foolish care,
The long way dwelling would seem more safe
Considering she waited there.

Her thoughts were all so full of united states,
She never could forget!
And so I think that where she is
She must be watching nevertheless.

Waiting till we come home to her,
Broken-hearted if nosotros are belatedly,
Watching from Heaven's window,
Leaning on Heaven's gate.

Margaret Widdemer

Arrival

Not witting
that you have been seeking
of a sudden
you come up upon it

the hamlet in the Welsh hills
grit free
with no route out
simply the one you lot came in past.

A bird chimes
from a green tree
the 60 minutes that is no hour
yous know. The river dawdles
to hold a mirror for yous
where you may run across yourself
as you are, a traveler
with the moon'southward halo
higher up him, whom has arrived
afterwards long journey where he
began, catching this
1 truth by surprise
that there is everything to look frontward to.

R.South.Thomas

I fall asleep in the full and certain promise
That my slumber shall not exist broken;
And that though I exist all-forgetting,
Yet shall I not be all-forgotten,
But continue that life in the thoughts and deeds
Of those I loved.

Samuel Butler

At present When the Number of My Years

Now when the number of my years
Is all fulfilled, and I
From sedentary life
Shall rouse me upward to die,
Bury me depression and let me lie
Under the broad and starry heaven.
Joying to live, I joyed to die,
Coffin me depression and allow me lie.

Clear was my soul, my deeds were free,
Honor was called my name,
I fell not back from fear
Nor followed subsequently fame.
Bury me low and let me lie
Under the broad and starry sky.
Joying to live, I joyed to dice,
Bury me low and allow me lie.

Coffin me low in valleys greenish
And where the milder breeze
Blows fresh along the stream,
Sings roundly in the trees —
Bury me low and let me lie
Under the broad and starry sky.
Joying to alive, I joyed to die,
Bury me low and let me lie.

Robert Louis Stevenson

from Sonnets from the Portuguese (XLII)

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and latitude and peak
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of being and ideal grace.
I love thee to the level of every day'southward
Most quiet demand, by sun and candle-low-cal.
I love thee freely, every bit men strive for correct.
I love thee purely, as they plough from praise.
I dear thee with the passion put to utilise
In my sometime griefs, and with my childhood's religion.
I love thee with a beloved I seemed to lose
With my lost saints, - I dearest thee with the breath,
Smiles, tears, of all my life! - and, if God choose,
I shall merely dearest thee amend after death.

Elizabeth Barrett Browning

Inside Our Dreams

Where practise people go to when they die?
Somewhere down below or in the heaven?
'I can't be sure,' said Granddad, 'but information technology seems
They simply fix up home inside our dreams.'

Jeanne Willis

When I die

When my coffin is existence taken out
you must never retrieve
I am missing this globe

Don't shed any tears
Don't lament or
Feel sorry
I'g not falling
Into a monster's abyss

When y'all see
My corpse is beingness carried
Don't cry for my leaving
I'm not leaving
I'k arriving at eternal love

When you lot leave me
In the grave
Don't say goodbye
Remember a grave is
Only a curtain
For the paradise behind

Y'all'll only run into me
Descending into a grave
Now watch me rise
How can there exist an end
When the dominicus sets or
The moon goes down

It looks like the stop
It seems like a dusk
But in reality it is a dawn
When the grave locks you up
That is when your soul is freed

Have yous ever seen
A seed fallen to earth
Not rise with a new life
Why should you lot dubiety the rising
Of a seed named homo

Have you e'er seen
A bucket lowered into a well
Coming back empty
Why complaining for a soul
When it tin come back
Like Joseph from the well

When for the last time
You lot close your rima oris
Your words and soul
Will belong to the earth of
No place no time

Rumi

Into the Hour

I have come into the hour of a white feeling.
... Grief'southward surgery is over and I article of clothing
The scar of my remorse and of my feeling.

I take come into a sudden sunlit hour
When ghosts are scared to corners. I accept come
Into the time when grief begins to blossom

Into a new beloved. Information technology had filled my room
Long earlier I recognized it. At present
I speak it's name. Grief finds its good way home.

The apple-blossom'south handsome on the bough
And Paradise spreads round. I bear on it's grass.
I want to celebrate only don't know how.

I need not speak though anybody I laissez passer
Stares at me kindly. I would put my hand
Into their hands. Now I accept lost my loss

In some way I may later understand.
I hear the singing of the summer grass.
And love, I detect, has no considered end,

Nor is it subject to the wilderness
Which follows death. I am non traitor to
A person or a retention. I trace

Behind that love another which is running
Around, ahead. I need not ask its meaning.

Elizabeth Jennings

Love Is Strong as Expiry

Song OF SONGS viii:6-seven

For beloved is stiff as death,
passion barbarous equally the grave;
it blazes up like blazing fire,
fiercer than whatsoever flame.
Many waters cannot quench beloved,
no flood can sweep it away;
if a human were to offering for beloved
the whole wealth of his business firm,
it would be utterly scorned.

The Peace of Wild Things

When despair for the world grows in me
and I wake in the night at the least sound
in fearfulness of what my life and my children'southward lives may be,
I go and lie downward where the woods drake
rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds.
I come into the peace of wild things
who do not revenue enhancement their lives with forethought
of grief. I come into the presence of still water.
And I feel above me the day-blind stars
waiting with their calorie-free. For a time
I rest in the grace of the world, and am costless.

Wendell Berry

Praise Vocal for My Mother

Y'all were
water to me
deep and bold and fathoming

You lot were
moon's eye to me
pull and grained and mantling

Yous were
sunrise to me
ascension and warm and streaming

Yous were
the fishes red gill to me
the flame tree'southward spread to me
the crab'southward leg/the fried plantain odour replenishing replenishing

Go to your wide futures, yous said

Grace Nichols

Is my soul asleep?

Is my soul asleep?
Take those beehives that work
in the night stopped? And the h2o-
wheel of idea, is information technology
going around now, cups
empty, conveying just shadows?

No, my soul is not asleep.
It is awake, broad awake.
It neither sleeps nor dreams, merely watches,
its eyes broad open up
far-off things, and listens
at the shores of the great silence.

Antonio Machado

The Pilot

From the Past and Unavailing
Out of cloudland nosotros are steering:
Afterwards groping, afterward fearing,
Into starlight we come trailing,
And we find the stars are true.
Still, O comrade, what of you?
You are gone, but nosotros are sailing,
And the old ways are all new.

For the Lost and Unreturning
We have drifted, we take waited;
Uncommanded and unrated,
Nosotros have tossed and wandered, yearning
For a charm that comes no more than
From the old lights past the shore:
We have shamed ourselves in learning
What yous knew so long before.

For the Breed of the Far-going
Who are strangers, and all brothers,
May forget no more than than others
Who looked seaward with eyes flowing.
Simply are brothers to bewail
One who fought so foul a gale?
Yous have won beyond our knowing,
Y'all are gone, only yet we sail.

Edwin Arlington Robinson

Do non stand at my grave and cry

Practice not stand at my grave and weep
I am not in that location. I do non slumber.
I am a yard winds that blow.
I am the diamond glints on snow.
I am the sunlight on ripened grain.
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you awaken in the morning'south hush
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circled flight.
I am the soft stars that smooth at night.
Exercise non stand at my grave and weep;
I am not there. I did non die.

Anon

I am the girl of Earth and H2o,
And the nursling of the Heaven;
I pass through the pores of the ocean and shores;
I change, merely I cannot dice.

The Cloud

I bring fresh showers for the thirsting flowers,
From the seas and the streams;
I deport lite shade for the leaves when laid
In their noonday dreams.
From my wings are shaken the dews that waken
The sweet buds every one,
When rocked to residue on their mother's breast,
As she dances about the sunday.
I wield the flail of the lashing hail,
And whiten the green plains under,
And then again I dissolve information technology in rain,
And express mirth as I pass in thunder.

I sift the snowfall on the mountains beneath,
And their corking pines groan aghast;
And all the night 'tis my pillow white,
While I sleep in the arms of the blast.
Sublime on the towers of my skiey bowers,
Lightning my pilot sits;
In a cavern under is fettered the thunder,
It struggles and howls at fits;
Over earth and ocean, with gentle motion,
This pilot is guiding me,
Lured by the dear of the genii that motion
In the depths of the purple sea;
Over the rills, and the crags, and the hills,
Over the lakes and the plains,
Wherever he dream, under mountain or stream,
The Spirit he loves remains;
And I all the while bask in Sky'southward blue smile,
Whilst he is dissolving in rains.

The sanguine Sunrise, with his meteor optics,
And his burning plumes outspread,
Leaps on the back of my sailing rack,
When the morning time star shines dead;
As on the jag of a mountain crag,
Which an earthquake rocks and swings,
An eagle alit 1 moment may sit
In the lite of its aureate wings.
And when Sunset may breathe, from the lit bounding main beneath,
Its ardours of rest and of love,
And the carmine curtain of eve may autumn
From the depth of Heaven above,
With wings folded I residuum, on mine aëry nest,
As still as a brooding pigeon.

That orbèd maiden with white fire laden,
Whom mortals call the Moon,
Glides glimmering o'er my fleece-like floor,
Past the midnight breezes strewn;
And wherever the shell of her unseen feet,
Which only the angels hear,
May have broken the woof of my tent's thin roof,
The stars peep behind her and peer;
And I laugh to see them whirl and flee,
Like a swarm of golden bees,
When I widen the rent in my air current-built tent,
Till calm the rivers, lakes, and seas,
Like strips of the sky fallen through me on high,
Are each paved with the moon and these.

I demark the Sun'south throne with a burning zone,
And the Moon'southward with a girdle of pearl;
The volcanoes are dim, and the stars reel and swim,
When the whirlwinds my banner unfurl.
From cape to cape, with a bridge-like shape,
Over a torrent sea,
Sunbeam-proof, I hang like a roof,
The mountains its columns be.
The triumphal curvation through which I march
With hurricane, fire, and snow,
When the Powers of the air are chained to my chair,
Is the million-coloured bow;
The sphere-fire above its soft colours wove,
While the moist Earth was laughing below.

I am the daughter of Earth and Water,
And the nursling of the Sky;
I pass through the pores of the ocean and shores;
I modify, but I cannot die.
For after the rain when with never a stain
The pavilion of Heaven is blank,
And the winds and sunbeams with their convex gleams
Build up the blue dome of air,
I silently laugh at my own cenotaph,
And out of the caverns of rain,
Like a kid from the womb, like a ghost from the tomb,
I ascend and unbuild it again.

Percy Bysshe Shelley

If I Should Never See The Moon Once again

If I should never see the moon over again
Rising ruddy gold across the harvest field
Or feel the stinging soft rain
As the brownish earth her treasures yield.

If I should never taste the salt body of water spray
As the ship beats her course across the breeze.
Or scent the canis familiaris-rose and new-mown hay,
or moss or primroses beneath the tree.

If I should never hear the thrushes wake
Long before the sunrise in the glimmering dawn.
Or picket the huge Atlantic rollers break
Against the rugged cliffs in inexplainable scorn.

If I have to say practiced bye to stream and woods,
To wide ocean and the green clad hill,
I know that he, who made this world and so good
Has somewhere made a heaven amend still.

This bears witness with my latest jiff
Knowing the honey of God,
I fright no decease.

Major Malcolm Boyle

If I Should Die and Exit You Here Awhile

If I should die and leave you hither a while,
be not like others sore undone,
who go on long vigil by the silent grit.
For my sake turn again to life and smiling,
nerving thy heart and trembling hand to do
something to comfort other hearts than thine.
Complete these dear unfinished tasks of mine
and I perchance may therein comfort you.

Mary Lee Hall (besides attributed to A. Price Hughes)

I Get My Style

All round is haste, defoliation, noise.
For power and wealth men stretch the day
From dawn till dusk.
But quietly I go my fashion.

For glitter, bear witness, to taunt the crowd,
Desire-tossed in wild dismay,
Men sell their souls.
But quietly I go my fashion.

The green of all the fields is mine;
The stars, the dark, the wind at play,
A peaceful heart, while quietly
I go my way.

Max Ehrman

You With The Nevertheless Soul

Maybe y'all have a even so soul that
goes murmurless like water
in the deep of rivers;

And maybe you wander
silent amid the din of the world'southward
grinding barter like one journeying
in strange lands.

You, besides, with the still soul,
have your mission, for below the dashing,
noisy waves must ever run the silent waters
that give the tide its class.

Max Ehrman

Our Little Life is Rounded With a Sleep

Our revels at present are concluded. These our actors,
Equally I foretold yous, were all spirits, and
Are melted into air, into thin air:
And similar the baseless cloth of this vision,
The cloud-capp'd tow'rs, the gorgeous palaces,
The solemn temples, the slap-up globe itself,
Yea, all which it inherit, shall deliquesce,
And, like this insubstantial pageant faded,
Leave not a rack behind. We are such stuff
As dreams are fabricated on; and our little life
Is rounded with a sleep.

William Shakespeare (from The Tempest)

Nosotros are such stuff
Equally dreams are fabricated on; and our little life
Is rounded with a slumber.

Beloved One, Sometime!

Love Ane, when you are
gone, by day and night
I search, but observe no peace
in anything.
The trees, the moon, the dominicus
no pleasure bring,
As when we two,
star-gazing, took to flight
To land upon some inner
mountain meridian.
What joy above the sordid
world to sing
With yous who are to me
eternal jump!
I run across it now that you
are gone from sight.
But yous will come over again,
and oh, what joy --
Your cheery vocalization describing
many a land,
The things men build and
ages long destroy,
We, sitting close together,
mitt in mitt,
Playing as children with
some new-bought toy,
It will be wonderful --
you empathise.

Max Ehrman

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Source: https://stoneletters.com/blog/funeral-poems

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