15 much loved funeral poems

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 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.

From: Goblin Market, The Prince's Progress and Other Poems by Christina Rosetti, 1862.

Lord, make me an instrument of your peace.
Where this is hatred, let me sow love;
Where there is injury, pardon;
Where there is doubt, faith; 
Where there is despair, hope;
Where there is darkness, light
And where there is sadness, joy.

O Divine Master,
grant that I may not so much seek to be consoled as to console;
to be understood as to understand; 
to be loved as to love.

For it is in giving that we receive;
It is in pardoning that we are pardoned,
and it is in dying that we are born to eternal life.

Listen to a reading of the Prayer of St. Francis of Assisi

Love means to learn to look at yourself 
The way one looks at distant things, 
For you are only one thing among many. 
And whoever sees that way heals his heart, 
Without knowing it, from various ills 
A bird and a tree say to him: Friend.
Then he wants to use himself and things
So that they stand in the glow of ripeness.
It doesn't matter whether he knows what he serves: 
Who serves best doesn't always understand. 

Czeslaw Milosz

To the living, I am gone,
To the sorrowful, I will never return,
To the angry, I was cheated,
But to the happy, I am at peace,
And to the faithful, I have never left.

I cannot speak, but I can listen.
I cannot be seen, but I can be heard.
So as you stand upon a shore gazing at a beautiful sea, 
As you look upon a flower and admire its simplicity,
Remember me.

Remember me in your heart:
Your thoughts, and your memories,
Of the times we loved,
The times we cried,
The times we fought,
The times we laughed.
For if you always think of me, 
I will never have gone.

Margaret Mead

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.

Death is nothing at all,
I have only slipped into the next room. 
I am I and you are you,
Whatever we were to each other, that we are still.

Call me by my old familiar name, 
Speak to me in the easy way which you always used, 
Put no difference in your tone,
Wear no forced air of solemnity or sorrow, 
Laugh as we always laughed at the little jokes we enjoyed together. 

Play, smile, think of me, pray for me. 
Let my name be ever the household world that it always was, 
Let it be spoken without effect, without the trace of shadow on it. 

Life means all that it ever meant. 
It is the same as it ever was, there is unbroken continuity.
Why should I be out of mind because I am out of sight? 
I am waiting for you, for an interval, somewhere very near, 
Just around the corner. 

All is well. 

Henry Scott Holland (1847-1918) Canon of St Paul's Cathedral, London, UK

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!)

Mary Frye

Listen to a reading of Do Not Stand at My Grave and Weep

Then Almitra spoke, saying, "We would ask now of Death."

And he said: "You would know the secret of death. But how shall you find it unless you seek it in the heart of life?

The owl whose night-bound eyes are blind unto the day cannot unveil the mystery of light. If you would indeed behold the spirit of death, open your heart wide unto the body of life. For life and death are one, even as the river and the sea are one.

In the depth of your hopes and desires lies your silent knowledge of the beyond.  And like seeds dreaming beneath the snow your heart dreams of spring. Trust the dreams, for in them is hidden the gate to eternity.

Your fear of death is but the trembling of the shepherd when he stands before the king whose hand is to be laid upon him in honor. Is the shepherd not joyful beneath his trembling, that he shall wear the mark of the king? Yet is he not more mindful of his trembling?

For what is it to die but to stand naked in the wind and to melt into the sun? And what is 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 mountain top, then you shall begin to climb.
And when the earth shall claim your limbs, then shall you truly dance.

Kahlil Gibran - from The Prophet, 1923

And a woman spoke, saying, tell us of pain.
And he said; 
Your pain is the breaking of the shell that encloses your understanding. 

Even as the stone of the fruit must break, that its heart may stand in the sun, so must you know pain.

And could you keep your heart in wonder at the daily miracles of your life, your pain would not seem less wondrous than your joy; 

And you would accept the seasons of your heart, even as you have always accepted the seasons that pass over your fields. 

And you would watch with serenity through the winters of your grief. 

Much of your pain is self-chosen. It is the bitter potion by which the physician within you heals your sick self. Therefore trust the physician, and drink his remedy in silence and tranquility. 

For his hand, though heavy and hard, is guided by the tender hand of the Unseen. And the cup he brings, though it burn your lips, has been fashioned of the clay which the Potter has moistened with His own sacred tears. 

Kahlil Gibran - from The Prophet, 1923

A time will come when my life will cease. But when that time comes, I ask that you remember these things:

BURY MY BODY but don't bury my beliefs 
BURY MY HEART but don't bury my love
BURY MY EYES but not my vision 
BURY MY FEET but not the path of my life
BURY MY HANDS but don't bury my diligent efforts
BURY MY SHOULDERS but not the concerns I carried
BURY MY VOICE but not my message 
BURY MY MIND but don't bury my dreams 
BURY ME but don't bury my life.

IF YOU MUST BURY SOMETHING, LET IT BE MY FAULTS AND MY WEAKNESSES. BUT LET MY LIFE CONTINUE ON IN YOU. 

Randall (Randy) Rohr - Spiritual Life Coach