4 Funeral Poems For Grandma

Find comfort in these funeral poems for Grandma. Grandmothers play such an important role in our live, when we lose them it has an impact greater than we realize. We hope that in these poems you see reflections of your Grandma.


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  1. In My Heart
    Poet: C. A. Lynch


    In my heart, you will always be
    Grandma, you are now set free
    Up in heaven with God whom you love
    Singing, and dancing up above.

    You gave me love and comfort to
    I am not sure what I'll do without you
    I will miss you each and every day
    You impacted my life in many ways.

    We celebrate your life this day
    But we will miss your loving ways.
    Watch over us from heaven we do pray
    We know that you are okay.



  2. Grandma
    Poet: Unknown


    Fold reverently the weary hands
    That toiled so long and well;
    And while your tears of sorrow fall
    Let sweet thanksgivings swell.

    That life-work stretching o'er long years
    A varied web has been;
    With silver strands by sorrow wrought,
    And sunny gleams between.

    How bright she always made the home!
    It seemed as if the floor
    Was always flecked with spots of sun,
    And barred with brightness o'er.

    The very falling of her step
    Made music as she went;
    A loving song was on her lip,
    The song of full content.

    O gently fold the weary hands
    That toiled so long and well!
    The spirit rose to angel bands,
    When off earth's mantle fell.

    She's safe within her Father's house
    Where many mansions be;
    O pray that thus such rest may come
    Dear hearts, to thee and me!



  3. The Good Old Grandmother
    Poet: Unknown


    Oh, softly wave the silver hair
    From off that aged brow!
    That crown of glory worn so long
    A fitting crown is now.

    Fold reverently the weary hands
    That toiled so long and well;
    And while your tears of sorrow fall,
    Let sweet thanksgiving swell.

    That life-work, stretching o'er long years,
    A varied web has been,
    With silver strands by sorrow wrought,
    And sunny gleams between.

    These silver hairs stole softly on,
    Like flakes of falling snow,
    That wrap the green earth lovingly
    When autumn breezes blow.

    Each silver hair, each wrinkle there,
    Records some good deed done -
    Some flower she cast along the way,
    Some spark from love's bright sun.

    How bright she always made her home!
    It seemed as if the floor
    ere always flecked with spots of sun,
    And barred with brightness o'er.

    The very falling of her step
    Made music as she went;
    A loving song was on her lips,
    The song of full content.

    And now, in later years, her word
    Has been a blessed thing
    In many a home, where glad she saw
    Her children's children spring.

    Her widowed life has happy been,
    With brightness born of heaven;
    So pearl and gold in drapery fold
    The sunset couch at even.

    Oh, gently fold the weary hands
    That toiled so long and well!
    The spirit rose to angel-bands
    When off earth's mantle fell.

    She's safe within her Father's house,
    Where many mansions be;
    Oh, pray that thus such rest may come,
    Dear heart, to thee and me!



  4. On The Death Of My Grandmother
    Poet: Alfred Tennyson


    There on her bier she sleeps!
    E'en yet her face its native sweetness keeps.
    Ye need not mourn above that faded form;
    Her soul defies the ravage of the worm;
    Her better half has sought its heavenly rest,
    Unstained, unharmed, unfettered, unoppressed;
    And far above all worldly pain and woe,
    She sees that God she almost saw below.
    She trod the path of virtue from her birth,
    And finds in heaven what she sought on earth;
    She wins the smile of her eternal King,
    And sings his praise where kindred angels sing.
    Her holy patience, her unshaken faith,
    How well they smoothed the rugged path of Death!
    She met his dread approach without alarm,
    For heaven in prospect makes the spirit calm.
    In steadfast trust and Christian virtue strong,
    Hope on her brow, and Jesus on her tongue;
    Her faith, like Stephen's, softened her distress -
    Scarce less her anguish, scarce her patience less!


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