Poems About the Loss of Loved Ones | Comfort Poems Death
Funeral poems about the loss of a loved one can be included in the eulogy or funeral program. It is often a form of emotional expression for the sadness that family and friends may be feeling. Read more comfort poems for a funeral service for your funeral program below:
All is Well
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 familiar name, speak to me in the easy way which you always used. Put no effort into 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 name word that it always was, let it be spoken without effect, without the trace of a 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 Wadsworth Longfellow
Do Not Stand At My Grave And Weep
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 (1932)
The Oak
Live thy Life, Young and old, Like yon oak, Bright in spring, Living gold;
Summer-rich Then; and then Autumn-changed Soberer-hued Gold again.
All his leaves Fall’n at length, Look, he stands, Trunk and bough Naked strength.
–Alfred Lord Tennyson
Death Be Not Proud
DEATH be not proud, though some have called thee, Mighty and dreadfull, for, thou art not so,
For, those, whom thou think’st, thou dost overthrow, Die not, poore death, nor yet canst thou kill me.
From rest and sleepe, which but thy pictures bee, Much pleasure, then from thee, much more must flow,
And soonest our best men with thee doe goe, Rest of their bones, and soules deliverie.
Thou art slave to Fate, Chance, kings, and desperate men,
And dost with poyson, warre, and sickness dwell,
And poppie, or charmes can make us sleepe as well, And better then thy stroake; why swell’st thou then;
One short sleepe past, wee wake eternally, And death shall be no more; death, thou shalt die.
–John Donne
The Tide Rises, The Tide Falls
The tide rises, the tide falls, The twilight darkens, the curlew calls;
Along the sea-sands damp and brown The traveler hastens toward the town, And the tide rises, the tide falls.
Darkness settles on roofs and walls, But the sea, the sea in the darkness calls;
The little waves, with their soft, white hands, Efface the footprints in the sands, And the tide rises, the tide falls.
The morning breaks; the steeds in their stalls Stamp and neigh, as the hostler calls;
The day returns, but nevermore Returns the traveler to the shore, And the tide rises, the tide falls.
–Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
