Poems About Death

There has been much written about death. Let these poems written about death give you thoughts to reflect upon.

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  1. The Hour Of Death
    Poet: Felicia Dorothea Hemans

    Leaves have their time to fall,
    And flowers to wither at the north wind's breath,
    And stars to set; but all,
    Thou hast all seasons for thine own, O Death!

    Day is for mortal care;
    Eve, for glad meetings round the joyous hearth;
    Night, for the dreams of sleep, the voice of prayer;
    But all for thee, thou mightiest of the earth!

    The banquet has its hour -
    Its feverish hour - of mirth, and song, and wine;
    There comes a day for grief's o'erwhelming power,
    A time for softer tears; but all are thine.

    Youth and the opening rose
    May look like things too glorious for decay,
    And smile at thee; but thou art not of those
    That wait the ripened bloom to seize their prey.

    Leaves have their time to fall,
    And flowers to wither at the north wind's breath,
    And stars to set; but all,
    Thou hast all seasons for thine own, O Death!

    We know when moons shall wane,
    When summer birds from far shall cross the sea,
    When autumn's hues shall tinge the golden grain;
    But who shall teach us when to look for thee?

    Is it when spring's first gale
    Comes forth to whisper where the violets lie?
    Is it when roses in our path grow pale?
    They have one season; all are ours to die.

    Thou art where billows foam;
    Thou art where music melts upon the air;
    hou art around us in our peaceful home;
    And the world calls us forth, and thou art there.

    Thou art where friend meets friend,
    Beneath the shadow of the elm to rest;
    Thou art where foe meets foe, and trumpets rend
    The skies, and swords beat down the princely crest.

    Leaves have their time to fall,
    And flowers to wither at the north wind's breath,
    And stars to set; but all,
    Thou hast all seasons for thine own, O Death!

  2. When I Am Dead, My Dearest
    Poet: Christina Rossetti

    When I am dead, my dearest,
    Sing no sad songs for me;
    Plant thou no roses at my head,
    Nor shady cypress tree:

    Be the green grass above me
    With showers and dewdrops wet;
    And if thou wilt, remember,
    And if thou wilt, forget.

    I shall not see the shadows,
    I shall not feel the rain;
    I shall not hear the nightingale
    Sing on, as if in pain:

    And dreaming through the twilight
    That doth not rise nor set,
    Haply I may remember,
    And haply may forget.

  3. Safely Home
    Poet: Unknown

    I am home in Heaven, dear ones;
    Oh, so happy and so bright!
    There is perfect joy and beauty
    In this everlasting light.

    All the pain and suffering is over
    Every restless tossing passed;
    I am now at peace forever,
    Safely home in Heaven at last.

    Did you wonder I so calmly
    Trod the valley of the shade?
    Oh! but Jesus' love illumined
    Every dark and fearful glade.

    And he came Himself to meet me
    In that way so hard to tread
    And with Jesus' arm to lean on
    Could I have one doubt or dread?

    Then you must not grieve so sorely,
    For I love you dearly still:
    Try to look beyond earth's shadows,
    Pray to trust our Father's will.

    There is still work waiting for you,
    So you must not idly stand;
    Do it now, while life remaineth-
    You shall rest in Jesus' land.

    When that work is completed,
    He will gently call you home;
    Oh, the rapture of that meeting,
    Oh, the joy to see you come!

  4. The Death
    Poet: M. J. E. Crawford

    The loved of earth - how they pass away!
    Like the sunny smiles of a summer day,
    They pass from earth; we see them fall
    As a gem drops out from a coronal,
    As blossoms torn from a healthy stem;
    'Tis thus that we ever think of them.
    We look with tears on a vacant place,
    And sigh for the loss of a well-known face;
    We murmur the names we loved, in vain -
    They can not answer our call again.

    They have passed away to their quiet rest;
    Earth folded them in her silent breast.
    The chill winds howl or warm rains weep,
    Alike unheeded above their sleep;
    And flowers may burst at the touch of spring,
    And green leaves rustle, and wild birds sing;
    But it matters not to the moldering dust
    The green earth holdeth in faithful trust.

    They pass, and their place must henceforth be
    Vacant, save in the memory
    Of those who loved them, - the faithful few,
    Whose hearts, to the dead, are fond and true;
    Whose love wanes not with the burdened breath,
    And sinking pulse that tells of death;
    That goes not out when the death-sealed eye
    Is shut from the light of the glorious sky,
    And the pleasant sounds they had loved to hear,
    Touch not the nerves of the senseless ear.

    The love of such hearts can not grow cold:
    Their memories never wax dim or old:
    They shrine the dead in a sacred urn;
    They know they can never to them return;
    But a holy trust to their love is given;
    Gems snatched from earth are reset in heaven;
    Flowers which died here in their beauty's prime,
    Live there in endless summer-time;
    And the dear ones, shrined in the trustful heart,
    They shall meet again, and no more shall part.

  5. Miss Me But Let Me Go
    Poet: Unknown

    When I come to the end of the road,
    and the sun has set for me.
    I want no rites in a gloom-filled room.
    Why cry for a soul set free?

    Miss me a littlebut not too long,
    and not with your head bowed low.
    Remember the love that was once shared.
    Miss me, but let me go.

    For this is a journey we all must take,
    and each must go alone.
    Its all a part of the masters plan,
    a step on the road to home.

    When you are lonely and sick of heart,
    go to the friends we know.
    Bear your sorrow in good deeds. Miss me,
    but let me go.

  6. Immortality.
    Poet: Barton

    The dead are like the stars by day,
    Withdrawn from mortal eye,
    Yet holding unperceived their way
    Through the unclouded sky.

    By them, through holy hope and love,
    We feel in hours serene,
    Connected with a world above,
    Immortal and unseen.

    For Death his sacred seal hath set
    On bright and bygone hours;
    And they we mourn are with us yet.
    Are more than ever ours; -

    Ours by the pledge of love and faith,
    By hopes of heaven on high;
    By trust triumphant over death,
    In immortality.

Find more poems at Best Poems for All Occasions

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