Best poems for funerals are those that, after reading them, you feel that the writer was going through the same emotions as you are. A feeling that they would understand the depth of your feeling. That is why they are so valuable. The best poems for funerals touch your heart in a way that nothing else can, and there is something about the fact that the poem rhymes that makes it far more poignant than simple sentences that don't rhyme would do. There have been many poems used in this way down through the ages. Don't forget that the best poems for funerals have always included hymns. They are simply poems put to music, and there is usually a funeral or remembrance section in every major hymnbook. Even if you are not religious, a quick look through a hymnbook will remind you of hymns that you know but thought you had forgotten. 'The Lords my Shepherd', 'Abide with me' and 'Eternal Father Strong to Save' perhaps being among the best poems. The best poems for funerals are also the best for funeral obituaries and eulogy help. These funeral poems have stood the test of time.
The Pallid Wreath by: Walt Whitman (1819-1892)
Somehow I cannot let it go yet, funeral though it is,
Let it remain back there on its nail suspended,
With pink, blue, yellow, all blanch'd, and the white now gray and ashy,
One wither'd rose put years ago for thee, dear friend;
But I do not forget thee. Hast thou then faded?
Is the odor exhaled? Are the colors, vitalities, dead?
No, while memories subtly play--the past
For but last night I woke, and in that spectral ring saw thee,
Thy smile, eyes, face, calm, silent, loving as ever:
So let the wreath hang still awhile within my eye-reach,
It is not yet dead to me, nor even pallid.
Petals by: Amy Lowell (1874-1925)
Life is a stream
On which we strew
Petal by petal the flower of our heart;
The end lost in dream,
They float past our view,
We only watch their glad, early start. Freighted with hope,
Crimsoned with joy,
We scatter the leaves of our opening rose;
Their widening scope,
Their distant employ,
We never shall know. And the stream as it flows
Sweeps them away,
Each one is gone
Ever beyond into infinite ways.
We alone stay
While years hurry on,
The flower fared forth, though its fragrance still stays. Interior by: Mariano Brull (1891-1956)
Here in her little room all still and lone
The things that made her life are greeting me.
It seems as though her body as it went
Had left a spirit footprint, mindfully.
'Twould seem as in the mirror-moon were shown
The shadowy glimpse of what she used to be;--
And sing more sad her bird its caged lament,--
And through the room her absence whisper free--
Her gilt-edged book of prayers is lying there
Upon the table; and it says: "The care
Is small of worldlings, -- Upon God, thine eye!"
I raise my glance, and in my grief I moan:--
Oh, had I but, that final hour, known
The anguished sweetness of her last goodbye!
Joy, Shipmate, Joy! by: Walt Whitman (1819-1892)
Joy, shipmate, Joy!
(Pleas'd to my soul at death I cry,)
Our life is closed, our life begins,
The long, long anchorage we leave,
The ship is clear at last, she leaps!
She swiftly courses from the shore,
Joy, shipmate, joy.
Remember by:Christina Rossetti (1830-1894)
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 the 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.
To One Shortly to Die by: Walt Whitman (1819-1892)
From all the rest I single out you, having a message for you,
You are to die--let others tell you what they please, I cannot prevaricate,
I am exact and merciless, but I love you--there is no escape for you. Softly I lay my right hand upon you, you 'ust feel it,
I do not argue, I bend my head close and half envelop it,
I sit quietly by, I remain faithful,
I am more than nurse, more than parent or neighbor,
I absolve you from all except yourself spiritual bodily, that is
eternal, you yourself will surely escape,
The corpse you will leave will be but excrementitious.
The Pallid Wreath by: Walt Whitman (1819-1892)
Somehow I cannot let it go yet, funeral though it is,
Let it remain back there on its nail suspended,
With pink, blue, yellow, all blanch'd, and the white now gray and ashy,
One wither'd rose put years ago for thee, dear friend;
But I do not forget thee. Hast thou then faded?
Is the odor exhaled? Are the colors, vitalities, dead?
No, while memories subtly play--the past
For but last night I woke, and in that spectral ring saw thee,
Thy smile, eyes, face, calm, silent, loving as ever:
So let the wreath hang still awhile within my eye-reach,
It is not yet dead to me, nor even pallid. vivid as ever;
Best Poems For Funerals
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