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Virtual Volunteer AppreciationMy days among the Dead are passed; Around me I behold, Where'er these casual eyes are cast, The mighty minds of old: My never-failing friends are they, With whom I converse day by day. With them I take delight in weal, And seek relief in woe; And while I understand and feel How much to them I owe, My cheeks have often been bedewed With tears of thoughtful gratitude. My thoughts are with the Dead; with them I live in long-past years, Their virtues love, their faults condemn, Partake their hopes and fears; And from their lessons seek and find Instruction with an humble mind. My hopes are with the Dead; anon My place with them will be, And I with them shall travel on Through all Futurity; Yet leaving here a name, I trust, That will not perish in the dust. --Robert Southey  There is as much greatness of mind in cknowledging a good turn as in doing it. Lucius Seneca Generosity is giving more than you can, and pride is taking in less than you need. --Kahlil Gibran "To laugh often and much; to win the respect of intelligent people and the affection of children ...to leave the world a better place ...to know even one life has breathed easier because you have lived. This is to have succeeded." -- Ralph Waldo Emerson For The Consecration Of A Cemetery. This verdant field that smiles to Heaven In Nature's bright array, From common uses set apart, We consecrate to-day. "God's Acre" be it fitly called, For when, beneath the sod, We lay the dead with reverent hands, We yield them back to God. And His great love, so freely given, Shall speak in clearer tones, When, pacing through these hallowed walks, We read memorial stones. Here let the sunshine softly fall, And gently drop the rain, And Nature's countless harmonies Blend one accordant strain; That they who seek this sacred place, In mourning solitude, In all this gracious company May have their faith renewed. So, lifted to serener heights, And purified from dross, Their trustful hearts shall rest on God, And profit by their loss. -- Horatio Alger, Jr. "Best of all is it to preserve everything in a pure, still heart, and let there be for every pulse a thanksgiving, and for every breath a song." - - Konrad von Gesne It's not about how much you do, but how much love you put into what you do that counts. Life isn't worth living, unless lived for other people. - -Mother Theresa Life is no brief candle to me. It is a sort of splendid torch which I have got a hold of for the moment, and I want to make it burn as brightly as possible before handing it on to future generations. - -George Bernard Shaw A Poem - Dedication ... Angel of Death! extend thy silent reign! Stretch thy dark sceptre o'er this new domain No sable car along the winding road Has borne to earth its unresisting load; No sudden mound has risen yet to show Where the pale slumberer folds his arms below; No marble gleams to bid his memory live In the brief lines that hurrying Time can give; Yet, O Destroyer! from thy shrouded throne Look on our gift; this realm is all thine own! Fair is the scene; its sweetness oft beguiled From their dim paths the children of the wild; The dark-haired maiden loved its grassy dells, The feathered warrior claimed its wooded swells, Still on its slopes the ploughman's ridges show The pointed flints that left his fatal bow, Chipped with rough art and slow barbarian toil, - Last of his wrecks that strews the alien soil! Here spread the fields that heaped their ripened store Till the brown arms of Labor held no more; The scythe's broad meadow with its dusky blush; The sickle's harvest with its velvet flush; The green-haired maize, her silken tresses laid, In soft luxuriance, on her harsh brocade; The gourd that swells beneath her tossing plume; The coarser wheat that rolls in lakes of bloom, - Its coral stems and milk-white flowers alive With the wide murmurs of the scattered hive; Here glowed the apple with the pencilled streak Of morning painted on its southern cheek; The pear's long necklace strung with golden drops, Arched, like the banian, o'er its pillared props; Here crept the growths that paid the laborer's care With the cheap luxuries wealth consents to spare; Here sprang the healing herbs which could not save The hand that reared them from the neighboring grave. Yet all its varied charms, forever free From task and tribute, Labor yields to thee No more, when April sheds her fitful rain, The sower's hand shall cast its flying grain; No more, when Autumn strews the flaming leaves, The reaper's band shall gird its yellow sheaves; For thee alike the circling seasons flow Till the first blossoms heave the latest snow. In the stiff clod below the whirling drifts, In the loose soil the springing herbage lifts, In the hot dust beneath the parching weeds, Life's withering flower shall drop its shrivelled seeds; Its germ entranced in thy unbreathing sleep Till what thou sowest mightier angels reap! Spirit of Beauty! let thy graces blend With loveliest Nature all that Art can lend. Come from the bowers where Summer's life-blood flows Through the red lips of June's half-open rose, Dressed in bright hues, the loving sunshine's dower; For tranquil Nature owns no mourning flower. Come from the forest where the beech's screen Bars the fierce moonbeam with its flakes of green; Stay the rude axe that bares the shadowy plains, Stanch the deep wound That dries the maple's veins. Come with the stream whose silver-braided rills Fling their unclasping bracelets from the hills, Till in one gleam, beneath the forest's wings, Melts the white glitter of a hundred springs. Come from the steeps where look majestic forth From their twin thrones the Giants of the North On the huge shapes, that, crouching at their knees, Stretch their broad shoulders, rough with shaggy trees. Through the wide waste of ether, not in vain, Their softened gaze shall reach our distant plain; There, while the mourner turns his aching eyes On the blue mounds that print the bluer skies, Nature shall whisper that the fading view Of mightiest grief may wear a heavenly hue. Cherub of Wisdom! let thy marble page Leave its sad lesson, new to every age; Teach us to live, not grudging every breath To the chill winds that waft us on to death, But ruling calmly every pulse it warms, And tempering gently every word it forms. Seraph of Love! in heaven's adoring zone, Nearest of all around the central throne, While with soft hands the pillowed turf we spread That soon shall hold us in its dreamless bed, With the low whisper, - Who shall first be laid In the dark chamber's yet unbroken shade? - Let thy sweet radiance shine rekindled here, And all we cherish grow more truly dear. Here in the gates of Death's o'erhanging vault, Oh, teach us kindness for our brother's fault Lay all our wrongs beneath this peaceful sod, And lead our hearts to Mercy and its God. FATHER of all! in Death's relentless claim We read thy mercy by its sterner name; In the bright flower that decks the solemn bier, We see thy glory in its narrowed sphere; In the deep lessons that affliction draws, We trace the curves of thy encircling laws; In the long sigh that sets our spirits free, We own the love that calls us back to Thee! Through the hushed street, along the silent plain, The spectral future leads its mourning train, Dark with the shadows of uncounted bands, Where man's white lips and woman's wringing hands Track the still burden, rolling slow before, That love and kindness can protect no more; The smiling babe that, called to mortal strife, Shuts its meek eyes and drops its little life; The drooping child who prays in vain to live, And pleads for help its parent cannot give; The pride of beauty stricken in its flower; The strength of manhood broken in an hour; Age in its weakness, bowed by toil and care, Traced in sad lines beneath its silvered hair. The sun shall set, and heaven's resplendent spheres Gild the smooth turf unhallowed yet by tears, But ah! how soon the evening stars will shed Their sleepless light around the slumbering dead! Take them, O Father, in immortal trust! Ashes to ashes, dust to kindred dust, Till the last angel rolls the stone away, And a new morning brings eternal day! - -Oliver Wendell Holmes The Road Not Taken Two roads diverged in a yellow wood, And sorry I could not travel both And be one traveler, long I stood And looked down one as far as I could To where it bent in the undergrowth; Then took the other, as just as fair, And having perhaps the better claim, Because it was grassy and wanted wear; Though as for that the passing there Had worn them really about the same, And both that morning equally lay In leaves no step had trodden black. Oh, I kept the first for another day! Yet knowing how way leads on to way, I doubted if I should ever come back. I shall be telling this with a sigh Somewhere ages and ages hence: Two roads diverged in a wood, and I? I took the one less traveled by, And that has made all the difference. - - Robert Frost Written In A Cemetery. Stay yet awhile, oh flowers!--oh wandering grasses, And creeping ferns, and climbing, clinging vines;-- Bend down and cover with lush odorous masses My darling's couch, where he in sleep reclines. Stay yet awhile;--let not the chill October Plant spires of glinting frost about his bed; Nor shower her faded leaves, so brown and sober, Among the tuberoses above his head. I would have all things fair, and sweet, and tender,-- The daisy's pearl, the cowslip's shield of snow, And fragrant hyacinths in purple splendour, About my darling's grassy couch to grow. Oh birds!--small pilgrims of the summer weather, Come hither, for my darling loved ye well;-- Here floats the thistle down for you to gather, And bearded grasses ripen in the dell. Here pipe, and plume your wings, and chirp and flutter, And swing, light-poised upon the pendant bough;-- Fondly I deem he hears the calls ye utter, And stirs in his light sleep to answer you. Oh wind!--that blows through hours of nights and lonely, Oh rain!--that sobs against my window pane,-- Ye beat upon my heart, which beats but only To clasp and shelter my lost lamb again. Peace--peace, my soul:--I know that in another And brighter land my darling walks and waits, Where we shall surely meet and clasp each other, Beyond the threshold of the shining gates. -- Kate Seymour Maclean In the Valley of Cauteretz All along the valley, stream that flashest white, Deepening thy voice with the deepening of the night, All along the valley, where thy waters flow, I walked with one I loved two and thirty years ago. All along the valley while I walked to-day, The two and thirty years were a mist that rolls away; For all along the valley, down thy rocky bed, Thy living voice to me was as the voice of the dead, And all along the valley, by rock and cave and tree, The voice of the dead was a living voice to me. -- Alfred Tennyson |
Bev KirkLarry Hein, SubmitterPeace Lutheran Cemetery MacLean, SK South Qu'Appelle RM 157 Pat LeonardCollins Cemetery | Dale Redekkop, submitterCanwood North Concordia Cemetery, Canwood,RM of Canwood 494Canwood South Concordia Cemetery, Canwood,RM of Canwood 494 Sheila Schmutz, SubmitterPaula Easton, SubmitterDoreen Kristjanson Marston, SubmitterPioneer Cemetery Mozart, SK RM of Elfros # 307 Thingvalla Cemetery Churchbridge, Langenburg, SK RM Churchbridge 211 Gordon GriffithsSt. Denis Cemetery Vonda, SK RM of Grant #372 St. Helen's Cemetery Bradwell, SK R.M. of Blucher #343 Cory Le Clair, submitterHolar Cemetery Bankend, Wishart, SK RM of Emerald #277
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