What is Death? by Henry Scott Holland 1847-1918 Canon of St. Paul's Cathedral Death is nothing at all. I have only slipped away into the next room. I am I and you are you. Whatever we were to each other, that we still are. 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 word that it always was. Let it be spoken without affect, without the trace of a shadow on it. Life means all that it ever meant. It is the same that it ever was. There is absolutely 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. Grieve not 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 softly falling snow. I am the gentle showers of rain. I am the fields of ripening grain. I am the morning hush. I am the graceful rush of beautiful birds in circling flight. I am the star shine of the night. I am the flowers that bloom. I am in a quiet room. I am the birds that sing. I am in each lovely thing. Do not stand at my grave and cry; I am not there. I did not die. The Unknown Shore Sometime at Eve when the tide is low I shall slip my moorings and sail away With no response to a friendly hail In the silent hush of the twilight pale When the night stoops down to embrace the day And the voices call in the water's flow Sometime at Eve When the water is low I shall slip my moorings and sail away. Through purple shadows That darkly trail o'er the ebbing tide And the Unknown Sea, And a ripple of waters' to tell the tale Of a lonely voyager sailing away To mystic isles Where at anchor lay The craft of those who had sailed before O'er the Unknown Sea To the Unknown Shore A few who watched me sail away Will miss my craft from the busy bay Some friendly barques were anchored near Some loving souls my heart held dear In silent sorrow will drop a tear But I shall have peacefully furled my sail In mooring sheltered from the storm and gale And greeted friends who had sailed before O'er the Unknown Sea To the Unknown Shore Funeral Blues Wystan Hugh Auden Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone, Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone. Silence the pianos and with muffled drum Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come. Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead Scribbling on the sky the message He is Dead, Put crépe bows round the white necks of the public doves, Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves. He was my North, my South, my East and West, My working week and my Sunday rest, My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song, I thought that love would last forever: 'I was wrong' The stars are not wanted now, put out every one; Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun; Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood. For nothing now can ever come to any good. High Flight John Gillespie Magee, Jr 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 sun-split clouds, --and done a hundred things You have 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, up the long, delirious, burning blue I've topped the wind-swept heights with easy grace Where never lark or even eagle flew -- And, while with silent lifting mind I've trod The high untrespassed sanctity of space, Put out my hand, and touched the face of God. That person is a success who.. Bessie Anderson Stanley (original version often attributed to Ralph Waldo Emerson) That person is a success who has lived well, laughed often and loved much; who has gained the respect of intelligent people and the love of children; who has filled his niche and accomplished his task; who leaves the world better than he found it, whether by an improved poppy, a perfect poem, or a rescued soul; who never lacked appreciation of earth's beauty or failed to express it; who looked for the best in others and gave the best that he had. Farewell my friends Gitanjali It was beautiful As long as it lasted The journey of my life I have no regrets Whatsoever save The pain I’ll leave behind Those dear hearts Who love and care And the heavy with sleep Ever moist eyes The smile in spite of a Lump in the throat And the strings pulling At the heart and soul The strong arms That held me up When my own strength Let me down Each morsel that I was Fed with was full of love At every turning of my life I came across Good friends Friends who stood by me Even when the time raced me by. Farewell Farewell My friends I smile and Bid you goodbye No, shed no tears For I need them not All I need is your smile If you feel sad Do think of me For that’s what I’ll like When you live in the hearts Of those you love Remember then… You never die.