Funeral Poems For Grandpa

Be comforted by these funeral poems for Grandpa. Grandfathers are men of influence in our lives, but also with their grandchildren, they are like a big teddy bear. Some seem ruff and gruff but they have an abundance of love and losing them is hard.

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  1. Grandpa
    Poet: W. C. Bryant

    I saw an aged man upon his bier;
    His hair was thin and white, and on his brow
    A record of the cares of many a year, -
    Cares that were ended and forgotten now.
    And there was sadness round, and faces bowed.
    And woman's tears fell fast, and children wailed aloud.

    Then rose another hoary man, and said,
    In faltering accents to that weeping train:
    "Why mourn ye that our aged friend is dead?
    Ye are not sad to see the gathered grain:
    Nor when their mellow fruits the orchards cast.
    Nor when the yellow woods let fall the ripened mast.

    Ye sigh not when the sun, his course fulfilled,-
    His glorious course, rejoicing earth and sky, -
    In the soft evening, when the winds are stilled.
    Sinks where his islands of refreshment lie,
    And leaves the smile of his departure spread
    O'er the warm-colored heaven and ruddy mountain-head.

    Why weep ye then for him, who, having won
    The bound of man's appointed years, at last,
    Life's blessings all enjoyed, life's labors done,
    Serenely to his final rest has passed;
    While the soft memory of his virtues yet
    Lingers, like twilight hues when the bright sun is set.

    His youth was innocent; his riper age
    Marked with some act of goodness every day;
    And watched by eyes that loved him, calm and sage,
    Faded his late declining years away:
    Meekly he gave his being up and went
    To share the holy rest that waits a life well spent.

    That life was happy; every day he gave
    Thanks for the fair existence that was his;
    For a sick fancy made him not her slave.
    To mock him with her phantom miseries.
    No chronic tortures racked his aged limbs,
    For luxury and sloth had nourished none for him.

    And I am glad that he has lived thus long.
    And glad that he has gone to his reward;
    Nor can I deem that Nature did him wrong.
    Softly to disengage the vital cord;
    For when his hand grew palsied, and his eye
    Dark with the mists of age, it was his time to die.

  2. Thy Home Is Waiting
    Poet: F. Sachse

    Come forth! Come on! with solemn song!
    The road is short, the rest is long.
    The Lord brought here, he calls away,
    Make no delay,
    This home was for a passing day.

    Here in an inn a stranger dwelt,
    Here joy and grief by turns he felt;
    Poor dwelling, now we close thy door.
    The talk is o'er,
    The sojourner returns no more.

    Now of a lasting home possessed,
    He goes to seek a deeper rest.
    Good-night ! the day was sultry here,
    In toil and fear;
    Good-night! the night is cool and clear.

    Now open to us, gates of peace!
    Here let the pilgrim's journey cease.
    Ye quiet slumberers, make room
    In your still home,
    For the new stranger who has come.

    How many graves around us lie!
    How many homes are in the sky!
    Yes, for each saint doth Christ prepare
    A place with care;
    Thy home is waiting, Grandpa, there.

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