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A Reflection on an Autumn Day
by Unknown
I took up a handful of grain and let it slip flowing through my fingers,
and I said to myself, This is what it is all about.
There is no longer any room for pretense.
At harvest time the essence is revealed – the straw and chaff are set aside,
they have done their job.
The grain alone matters – sacks of pure gold.
So it is when a person dies the essence of that person is revealed.
At the moment of death a person’s character stands out happy
There Is No Night Without a Dawning
by Helen Steiner Rice
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 leave us for a while
Have only gone away
Out of a restless, care worn world
Into a brighter day
My Candle Burns At Both Ends
by Edna St.Vincent Millay
My candle burns at both ends
It will not last the night;
But ah, my foes, and oh, my friends;
It gives a lovely light!
Footprints on the sands of time
by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Life is but an empty dream! —
For the soul is dead that slumbers,
And things are not what they seem.
And the grave is not its goal;
Dust thou art, to dust returnest,
Was not spoken of the soul.
Is our destined end or way;
But to act, that each to-morrow
Find us farther than to-day.
And our hearts, though stout and brave,
Still, like muffled drums, are beating
Funeral marches to the grave.
Let the dead Past bury its dead!
Act, — act in the living Present!
Heart within, and God o’erhead!
We can make our lives sublime,
And, departing, leave behind us
Footprints on the sands of time;
Sailing o’er life’s solemn main,
A forlorn and shipwrecked brother,
Seeing, shall take heart again.
With a heart for any fate;
Still achieving, still pursuing,
Learn to labor and to wait.
Do Not Stand At My Grave and Weep
by 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 glints on snow.
I am the sunlight on ripened grain.
I am the gentle autumn’s rain.
When you awaken in the morning’s hush,
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circled flight.
I am the soft stars that shine at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry;
I am not there.
I did not die.