O Thou,

   The Cause and Effect of the whole universe,

   The Source from whence we have come

   And the Goal toward which all are bound

Receive this soul who is coming to Thee

   Into Thy parental arms.

May Thy forgiving glance heal his [her, their] heart.

Lift him [her, they] from the denseness of the earth.

Surround him [her, them] with the Light

   Of Thine own Spirit.

Raise him [her, them] up to heaven

   Which is his true dwelling place.

We pray Thee, grant him [her, them] the blessing

   Of Thy most exalted Presence.

May his [her,their] life upon earth

   Become as a dream to his [her, their] waking soul

And let his [her, their] thirsting eyes behold

   The glorious vision of Thy Sunshine.

Amen

--Hazrat Inayat Khan

Goodnight; ensured release,
Imperishable peace,
Have these for yours,
While sea abides, and land,
And earth’s foundations stand,
and heaven endures.

When earth’s foundations flee,
nor sky nor land nor sea
At all is found
Content you, let them burn:
It is not your concern;
Sleep on, sleep sound.

—A.E Housman

If you love a flower that lives on a star, it is sweet to look at the sky at night. All the stars are a-blossom with flowers.

And at night you will look up at the stars. Where I live, everything is so small that I cannot show you where my star is to be found. It is better like that. My star will just be one of the stars, for you. And so you will love to watch all of the stars in the heavens. They will be your friends.

All men have the stars, but they are not the same things for different people. For some, who are travellers, these stars are guides. For others, they are no more than little lights in the sky.

But all these stars are silent. You – you alone – will have the stars as no one else has them and in one of the stars, I shall be living. In one of them, I shall be laughing when you look at the sky at night.

And when your sorrow is comforted, for time soothes all sorrows, you will be content that you have known me. You will always be my friend. You will want to laugh with me. And you will sometimes open your window, just for that pleasure.'

Antoine de Saint-Exupéry

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

—Helen Steiner Rice

These things I know:

how the living go on living

and how the dead go on living with them

so that in a forest

even a dead tree casts a shadow

and the leaves fall one by one

and the branches break in the wind

and the bark peels off slowly

and the trunk cracks

and the rain seeps in through the cracks

and the trunk falls to the ground

and the moss covers it

and in the spring the rabbits find it

and build their nest

inside the dead tree

so that nothing is wasted in nature or in love.

—Laura Gilpin

May perpetual light shine upon

The face of he who rests here.

May the remembering earth

Mind every memory he brought.

May the rains from the heavens

Fall gently upon him.

May the wildflowers and grasses

Whisper their wishes into the light.

May we reverence the village of presence

In the stillness of this silent field.

-- Adapted from a poem by John Donohue

When despair for the world grows in me
And I wake in the night at the least sound
In fear of what my life and my children’s lives may be,
I go and lie down where the wood drake
Rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds.
I come into the peace of wild things
Who do not tax 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 light. For a time
I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.

-- Wendell Berry

May God/Love support us all the day long,

‘till the shadows lengthen, and the evening comes,

and the busy world is hushed, and the fever of life is o’er, and our work is done.

Then in His/Its mercy, may He/It give us a safe lodging, and a holy rest, and peace at the last.

Amen.

—adapted from St. John Cardinal Newman, C.O.

Blessed are those who give meaning to our lives;

holy and precious is the example they leave behind.

We pray: May our sorrows diminish as we recall their strength.

May their wisdom protect us and help us to live.

Let our grief be transformed into tenderness for those who are still with us.

-- Jewish prayer

Peace, my heart, let the time for
the parting be sweet.
Let it not be a death but completeness.
Let love melt into memory and pain
into songs.
Let the flight through the sky end
in the folding of the wings over the
nest.
Let the last touch of your hands be
gentle like the flower of the night.
Stand still, O Beautiful End, for a
moment, and say your last words in
silence.
I bow to you and hold up my lamp
to light you on your way.

-- Rabindranath Tagore

Do not hurry 

As you walk with grief; 

It does not help the journey. 

Walk slowly, 

Pausing often; 

Do not hurry 

As you walk with grief. 

--Eli Jenkins

Death is not the end

But the beginning 

Of a metamorphosis.

For matter is never destroyed 

Only transformed 

And rearranged – 

Often more perfectly.

Witness how in the moment of a caterpillar’s death 

The beauty of the butterfly is born 

And released from the prison of the cocoon 

It flies free.

-- Peter Tatchell

Birth is a beginning
And death a destination
And life is a journey: 
From childhood to maturity
And youth to age; 
From innocence to awareness
And ignorance to knowing; 
From foolishness to discretion
And then perhaps to wisdom. 

From weakness to strength or
From strength to weakness
And often back again; 
From health to sickness, 
And we pray to health again. 

From offence to forgiveness, 
From loneliness to love, 
From joy to gratitude, 
From pain to compassion, 
From grief to understanding, 
From fear to faith. 

From defeat to defeat to defeat
Until, not looking backwards or ahead, 
We see that victory lies not
At some high point along the way
But in having made the journey
Step by step, 
A sacred pilgrimage. 
Birth is a beginning
And death a destination
And life is a journey. 

--Rabbi Alvin Fine from Jewish Reform high holiday prayer book, Gates of Repentance

The first candle represents our grief. 
The pain of losing you is intense. 
It reminds us of the depth of our love for you.  
This second candle represents our courage. 
To confront our sorrow, 
To comfort each other, 
To change our lives. 
This third candle we light in your memory. 
For the times we laughed, 
The times we cried, 
The times we were angry with each other, 
The silly things you did, 
The caring and joy you gave us. 
This fourth candle we light for our love. 
We light this candle that your light will always shine. 
As we enter this holiday season and share this night of remembrance
with our family and friends. 
We cherish the special place in our hearts
that will always be reserved for you. 
We thank you for the gift  
your living brought to each of us. 
We love you. 
We remember you. 

-- Unknown

His laughter was better than the birds in the morning, 
His smile turned the edge of the wind, 
His memory disarms death and charms the surly grave. 
We cannot grieve for more than a little while
For he lives in the earth around us, 
And laughs from the sky.

-- C. Day Lewis 

In a circle of friends, the one who dies first
Is the friend you will never forget: 
This is the death that unhinges you
From the trappings of everyday life
And makes you – suddenly – absurdly grateful
For each new breath – beginning with this one. 

This is the death that could break you apart
In every way possible; that persuades you – 
In memory of that friend – to turn away
From whatever refuses to speak to your heart
From whatever threatens to numb your soul
From whatever it is that revels in death. 

Yet this, too, is the friend you need by your side. 
Listen. Together they urge you: Live your life. 

-- Alice Kavounas

It is easily forgotten, year to 

year, exactly where the plot is, 

though the place is entirely familiar 

a willow tree by a curving roadway    

sweeping black asphalt with tender leaves; 

damp grass strewn with flower boxes, 

canvas chairs, darkskinned old ladies 

circling in draped black crepe family stones,    

fingers cramped red at the knuckles, discolored    

nails, fresh soil for new plants, old rosaries; 

such fingers kneading the damp earth gently down    

on new roots, black humus caught in grey hair    

brushed back, and the single waterfaucet, 

birdlike upon its grey pipe stem, 

a stream opening at its foot. 

We know the stories that are told, 

by starts and stops, by bent men at strange joy    

regarding the precise enactments of their own    

gesturing. And among the women there will be    

a naming of families, a counting off, an ordering. 

The morning may be brilliant; the season 

is one of brilliances sunlight through 

the fountained willow behind us, its splayed    

shadow spreading westward, our shadows westward,    

irregular across damp grass, the close-set stones. 

It may be that since our walk there is faltering, 

moving in careful steps around snow-on-the-mountain,    

bluebells and zebragrass toward that place 

between the willow and the waterfaucet, the way    

is lost, that we have no practiced step there, 

and walking, our own sway and balance, fails us. 

  -- Michael Anania

This body that has borne her all her life from birth to death,

that gave her breath to live and sight to see,

that has served her every need, that has shown you the beauty of her unique person

in its eyes and made you aware of her presence in your heart,

and without which she would be a mystery to you;

we now return to its source with the grace it deserves from us,

without our attachment to it but with our lasting love for her.

Death has nothing to do with going away. 
The sun sets
The moon sets
But they are not gone.

-- Rumi

We are such stuff as dreams are made on; and our little life is rounded with a sleep.

 -- William Shakespeare‘The Tempest’ Act IV, Scene I  

In this short Life that only lasts an hour

How much - how little - is within our power

-- Emily Dickinson

When great trees fall,
rocks on distant hills shudder,
lions hunker down
in tall grasses,
and even elephants
lumber after safety.

When great trees fall
in forests,
small things recoil into silence,
their senses
eroded beyond fear.

When great souls die,
the air around us becomes
light, rare, sterile.
We breathe, briefly.
Our eyes, briefly,
see with
a hurtful clarity.
Our memory, suddenly sharpened,
examines,
gnaws on kind words
unsaid,
promised walks
never taken.

Great souls die and
our reality, bound to
them, takes leave of us.
Our souls,
dependent upon their
nurture,
now shrink, wizened.
Our minds, formed
and informed by their
radiance,
fall away.
We are not so much maddened
as reduced to the unutterable ignorance
of dark, cold
caves.

And when great souls die,
after a period peace blooms,
slowly and always
irregularly. Spaces fill
with a kind of
soothing electric vibration.
Our senses, restored, never
to be the same, whisper to us.
They existed. They existed.
We can be. Be and be
better. For they existed.

-- Maya Angelou

The rays of light filtered through 

The sentinels of trees this morning. 

I sat in the garden and contemplated. 

The serenity and beauty 

Of my feelings and surroundings 

Completely captivated me. 

I thought of you. 

I discovered you tucked away 

In the shadows of the trees. 

Then, rediscovered you  

In the smiles of the flowers 

As the sun penetrated their petals 

In the rhythm of the leaves 

Falling in the garden 

In the freedom of the birds 

As they fly searching as you do. 

I’m very happy to have found you, 

Now you will never leave me 

For I will always find you in the beauty of life.

-- Walter Rinder 

I shall live beyond death, and I shall sing in your ears

Even after the vast sea-wave carries me back  

To the vast sea-depth.  

I shall sit at your board though without a body,  

And I shall go with you to your fields, a spirit invisible.  

I shall come to you at your fireside, a guest unseen.  

Death changes nothing but the masks that cover our faces.  

The woodsman shall be still a woodsman,  

The ploughman, a ploughman,  

And he who sang his song to the wind shall sing it also to  

              the moving spheres.  

-- Kahlil Gibran, from The Garden of The Prophet

There is a time for everything,  and a season for every activity under heaven: a time to be born and a time to die,  

a time to plant and a time to uproot,  

a time to kill and a time to heal,  

a time to tear down and a time to build,  

a time to weep and a time to laugh,  

a time to mourn and a time to dance,  

a time to scatter stones and a time to gather them,  

a time to embrace and a time to refrain,  

 a time to search and a time to give up,  

a time to keep and a time to throw away,  

a time to tear and a time to mend,  

a time to be silent and a time to speak,  

a time to love and a time to hate,  

a time for war and a time for peace. 

I carry your heart with me (I carry it in

My heart) I am never without it (anywhere

I go you go, my dear; and whatever is done

By only me is your doing, my darling

I fear no fate (for you are my fate, my sweet) I want

No world (for beautiful you are my world, my true)

And it's you are whatever a moon has always meant

And whatever a sun will always sing is you

Here is the deepest secret nobody knows

(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud

And the sky of a tree called life; which grows

Higher than soul can hope or mind can hide)

And this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart

I carry your heart (I carry it in my heart)

-- ee cummings

Her early leaf’s a flower

But only so an hour

Then leaf subsides to leaf

So Eden sank to grief

So dawn goes down to day

Nothing gold can stay.

-- Robert Frost

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
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’s
Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light.
I love thee freely, as men strive for right.
I love thee purely, as they turn from praise.
I love thee with the passion put to use
In my old griefs, and with my childhood’s faith.
I love thee with a love I seemed to lose
With my lost saints. I love thee with the breath,
Smiles, tears, of all my life; and, if God choose,
I shall but love thee better after death.

-- Elizabeth Barrett Browning,  Sonnet 43