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Memorial
May 5th, 2008
| “It is the soldier, not the reporter, who has given us freedom of the press. It is the soldier, not the poet, who has given us freedom of speech. It is the soldier, not the campus organizer, who has given us the freedom to demonstrate. It is the soldier, who salutes the flag, who serves beneath the flag, and whose coffin is draped by the flag, who allows the protester to burn the flag.” ~ Father Denis Edward O’Brien, USMC Nature’s first green is gold, Her hardest hue to hold. Her early leaf’s a flower But only so an hour. So leaf subsides to leaf, So Eden sank to grief, So dawn goes down to day, Nothing gold can stay. ~ Robert Frost Concord Hymn by Ralph Waldo Emerson By the rude bridge that arched the flood,
Their flag to April’s breeze unfurled Here once the embattled farmers stood and fired the shot heard round the world. The foe long since in silence slept;
alike the conqueror silent sleeps And time the ruined bridge has swept down the dark stream which seaward creeps. On this green bank, by this soft stream,
we set today a votive stone That memory may their deed redeem When, like out sires, our sons are gone. Spirit that made those heroes dare
to die, and leave their children free, bid time and nature gently spare, the shaft we raise to them and thee.
The woods are lovely dark and deep, but I have promises to keep and miles to go before I sleep. ~ Robert Frost To One in Paradise by Edgar Allen Poe…And all my days are trances, And all my nightly dreams Are where thy gray eye glances, And where thy footstep gleams- In what ethereal dances, By what eternal streams. |
Do Not Stand At My Grave and Weep by Mary E. Frye Do not stand at my grave and weep.
I am not there, I do not sleep. I am a thousand winds that blow. I am the diamond glint on the snow. I am the sunlight on ripened grain. I am the gentle autumn’s rain. When you awake in the morning hush
I am the swift, uplifting rush of quiet birds in circled flight. I and the soft star that shines at night. Don not stand at my grave and weep. I am not there I do not sleep. Do not stand at my grave and cry. I am not there, I live in the sky! Because I could not stop for Death by Emily Dickinson
Because I could not stop for Death –
He kindly stopped for me – The Carriage held but just Ourselves – And Immortality. We slowly drove — He knew no haste
And I had put away My labor and my leisure too, For His Civility – We passed the School, where Children strove
At Recess — in the Ring – We passed the Fields of Gazing Grain – We passed the Setting Sun – Or rather — He passed Us –
The Dews drew quivering and chill – For only Gossamer, my Gown – My Tippet — only Tulle – We paused before a House that seemed Since then — ’tis Centuries — and yet To Remember Me
Robert N. Test The day will come when my body will lie upon a white sheet neatly tucked under four corners of a mattress located in a hospital; busily occupied with the living and the dying. At a certain moment a doctor will determine that my brain has ceased to function and that, for all intents and purposes, my life has stopped. When that happens, do not attempt to instill artificial life into my body by the use of a machine. And don’t call this my deathbed. Let it be called the bed of life, and let my body be taken from it to help others lead fuller lives.
Give my sight to the man who has never seen a sunrise, a baby’s face or love in the eyes of a woman.
Give my heart to a person whose own heart has caused nothing but endless days of pain.
Give my blood to the teenager who was pulled from the wreckage of his car, so that he might live to see his grandchildren play.
Give my kidneys to the one who depends on a machine to exist from week to week.
Take my bones, every muscle, every fiber and nerve in my body and find a way to make a crippled child walk.
Explore every corner of my brain. Take my cells, if necessary, and let them grow so that, someday a speechless boy will shout at the crack of a bat and a deaf girl will hear the sound of rain against her window. Burn what is left of me and scatter the ashes to the winds to help the flowers grow. If you must bury something, let it be my faults, my weakness and all prejudice against my fellow man. Give my sins to the devil. Give my soul to God. If, by chance, you wish to remember me, do it with a kind deed or word to someone who needs you. If you do all I have asked, I will live forever.
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This compilation has been collected for the intention of offering inspiration and embellishment for the personal scrapbooks, journals and cards of crafters. If you intend to create works for sale, please seek the permission of the author or copyright holder.
Ogden Nash poems Copyright © by Linell Nash Smith and Isabel Nash Eberstadt
Filed under Stuff and Rants |
