 Abide with me by Henry F. Light. Read for LibriVox.org by Ruth Golding. Abide with me. Fast falls the eventide. The darkness deepens. Lord, with me abide. When other helpers fail and comforts flee, Help of the helpless, oh, abide with me. Lift to its clothes ebbs out life's little day. Earth's joys grow dim, its glories pass away. Change and decay in all around I see. Oh, thou who changest not, abide with me. Not a brief glance, I beg, a passing word. But as thou dwellst with thy disciples, Lord, Familiar, condescending, patient, free. Come not to sojourn, but abide with me. Come not in terrors as the king of kings, But kind and good with healing in thy wings. Tears for all woes, a heart for every plea. Come, friend of sinners, and thus abide with me. Thou on my head in early youth didst smile. And though rebellious and perverse meanwhile, Thou hast not left me, oft as I left thee. On to the clothes, oh Lord, abide with me. I need thy presence every passing hour. What but thy grace can foil the tempter's power? Who like thyself my guide and stay can be? Through cloud and sunshine, Lord, abide with me. I fear no foe with thee at hand to bless. Ills have no weight, and tears no bitterness. Where is death sting? Where grave thy victory? I triumph still if thou abide with me. Hold thou thy cross before my closing eyes. Shine through the gloom, and point me to the skies. Heaven's morning breaks, and earth's vain shadows flee. In life, in death, oh Lord, abide with me. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Crossing the Bar by Alfred Lord Tennyson. Read for LibriVox.org by Ruth Golding. Sunset and evening star, and one clear call for me. And may there be no moaning of the bar when I put out to sea. But such a tide as moving seems asleep, too full for sound or foam, when that which drew from out the boundless deep turns again home. Twilight and evening bell, and after that the dark. And may there be no sadness of farewell when I embark. For though from out are born of time and place the flood may bear me far, I hope to see my pilot face to face when I have crossed the bar. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Dear Lord and Father of Mankind by John G. Whittier. Read for LibriVox.org by Ruth Golding. Dear Lord and Father of Mankind, forgive our foolish ways. Reclothe us in our rightful mind. In purer lives thy service find, in deeper reverence praise. In simple trust like theirs who heard beside the Syrian sea, the gracious calling of the Lord, let us like them, without a word, rise up and follow thee. O Sabbath rest by Galilee, O calm of hills above, where Jesus knelt to share with thee the silence of eternity interpreted by love. With that deep hush subduing all our words and works that drown the tender whisper of thy call, as noiseless let thy blessing fall as fell thy manner down. Drop thy still dues of quietness till all our striving cease. Take from our souls the strain and stress, and let our ordered lives confess the beauty of thy peace. Breathe through the heats of our desire, thy coolness and thy balm. Let sense be dumb, let flesh retire. Speak through the earthquake, wind and fire. O still small voice of calm. Though some have called thee mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so. For those whom thou thinkst thou dost overthrow, die not, poor death, nor yet canst thou kill me. From rest and sleep which but thy pictures be, much pleasure. Then from thee much more must flow, and soonest our best men with thee do go. Rest of their bones and soul's delivery. Thou art slave to fate, chance, kings, and desperate men, and dust with poison, war, and sickness dwell. And poppy or charms can make us sleep as well, and better than thy stroke. Why swells thou, then? One short sleep past we wake eternally, and death shall be no more. Death thou shalt die. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Death is Nothing at All by Canon Henry Scott Holland. Read for LibriVox.org by Ruth Golding. Death is Nothing at All. I have only slipped away into the next room. I am I, and you are you. Whatever we were to each other, that we are still. Call me by my old familiar name. Speak to me in the easy way which you always used. Put no difference in your tone. Wear no forced air of solemnity or sorrow. Laugh, as we have always laughed at the little jokes we enjoyed together. Play, smile, think of me, pray for me. Let my name be ever the household word that it always was. Let it be spoken without effect, without the trace of a shadow on it. Life means all that it ever meant. It was the same as it ever was. There is unbroken continuity. What is this death but a negligible accident? Why should I be out of mind because I am out of sight? I am waiting for you, for an interval, somewhere very near, just around the corner. All is well. End of reading. This recording is in the public domain. The dying Christian to his soul by Alexander Pope. Read for LibriVox.org by Ruth Golding. Fight or spark of heavenly flame. Quit, oh, quit this mortal frame. Trembling, hoping, lingering, flying. Oh, the pain, the bliss of dying. Cease font nature. Cease thy strife, and let me languish into life. Hark, they whisper. Angels say, sister spirit, come away. What is this absorbs me quite? Steals my senses, shuts my sight, drowns my spirits, draws my breath. Tell me, my soul, can this be death? The world recedes. It disappears. Heaven opens on my eyes, my ears with sounds, syraphic ring. Lend, lend your wings. I mount, I fly. Oh, grave, where is thy victory? Oh, death, where is thy sting? End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Even tied by John McCray. Read for LibriVox.org by Ruth Golding. The day is past, and the toilers cease. The land grows dim mid the shadows gray. And hearts are glad, for the dark brings peace at the close of day. Each weary toiler with lingering pace, As he homeward turns with the long day done, Looks out to the west with the light on his face of the setting sun. Yet some see not, with their sin-dimmed eyes, The promise of rest in the fading light, But the clouds loom dark in the angry skies at the fall of night. And some see only a golden sky, Where the elms, their welcoming arms, Stretch wide to the calling rooks, As they homeward fly at the eventide. It speaks of peace that comes after strife, Of the rest he sends to the hearts he tried, Of the calm that follows the stormiest life. God's even tied. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Fear no more the heat of the sun From Cymbaline, by William Shakespeare, Act four, scene two. Fear no more the heat of the sun Nor the furious winter's rages. Thou thy worldly task has done, Home art gone, and tame thy wages. Golden lads and girls all must, As chimney-sweepers, come to dust. Fear no more the frown of the great, Thou art past the tyrant's stroke. Care no more to clothe and eat, To thee the reed is as the oak. The scepter, learning, physic, Must all follow this, and come to dust. Fear no more the lightning flash, Nor the old dreaded thunderstone. Fear not slander, censure, rash, Thou hast finished joy and moan. All lovers young, all lovers, Must consign to thee, and come to dust. No exorcise are harm thee, Nor no witchcraft charm thee, Ghost unlaid for bear thee, Nothing ill come near thee. Quiet consummation have, And renown it be thy grave. End of reading This recording is in the public domain. Gone from my sight, author unknown, Read for LibriVox.org by Ruth Golding. I am standing upon the seashore. A ship at my side spreads her white sails To the morning breeze, And starts for the blue ocean. She is an object of beauty and strength, And I stand and watch her, Until at length she hangs Like a speck of white cloud, Just where the sea and sky Come down to meet and mingle with each other. Then someone at my side says, There, she's gone. Gone where? Gone from my sight, that is all. She is just as large in the mast and hull and spa As she was when she left my side, And just as able to bear her load Of living freight to the place of her destination. Her diminished size is in me and not in her. And just at that moment when someone at my side says, There, she's gone. There are other eyes that are watching for her coming, And other voices ready to take up the glad-shot, There she comes. And that is dying. End of reading This recording is in the public domain. I fall asleep in the full and certain hope By Samuel Butler. Read for LibriVox.org by Ruth Golding. I fall asleep in the full and certain hope That my slumber shall not be broken. And that though I be all forgetting, Yet shall I not be all forgotten. But continue that life in the thoughts And deeds of those I loved, Into which, while the power to strive Was yet vouchsafed me, I fondly strove to enter. End of poem This recording is in the public domain. The Lord's my shepherd from the Scottish sultan. Read for LibriVox.org by Ruth Golding. The Lord's my shepherd I'll not want. He makes me down to lie In pastures green. He leadeth me the quiet waters by. My soul he doth restore again, And me to walk doth make Within the paths of righteousness, In for his own namesake. Yea, though I walk in death's dark veil, Yet will I fear no ill, For thou art with me, and thy rod and staff My comfort still. My table thou hast furnished In presence of my foes. My head thou dust with oil anoint And my cup overflows. Goodness and mercy All my life shall surely follow me. And in God's house for ever more My dwelling place shall be. End of poem This recording is in the public domain. The Old Man's Funeral by William Cullen Bryant Read for LibriVox.org by Ruth Golding. I saw an aged man upon his beer. 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 fruit the orchards cast, Nor when the yellow woods Shake down 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-coloured 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 labour's 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 ripe 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. Cheerful 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 wracked his aged limb, For luxury and slow said 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 palsy'd And his eye dark with the mists of age It was his time to die. End of poem This recording is in the public domain. Oration at a Child's Grave By Colonel R. G. Ingersoll Read for LibriVox.org by Ruth Golding My friends, I know how vain it is To gild a grief with words, And yet I wish to take from every grave its fear. Here in this world, where life and death are equal kings, All should be brave enough to meet what all have met. The future has been filled with fear, Stained and polluted by the heartless past. From the wondrous tree of life The buds and blossoms fall with ripened fruit. And in the common bed of earth Patriarchs and babes sleep side by side. Why should we fear that which will come to all that is? We cannot tell. We do not know which is the greatest blessing, life or death. We cannot say that death is not good. We do not know whether the grave is the end of this life Or the door of another. Or whether the night here is not somewhere else, A dawn. Neither can we tell which is the more fortunate, The child dying in its mother's arms Before its lips have learned to form a word, Or he who journeys all the lengths of life's uneven road, Painfully taking the last slow steps with staff and crutch. Every cradle asks us, Quents, and every coffin wither. The poor barbarian weeping above his dead Can answer the question as intelligently and satisfactorily As the robed priest of the most authentic creed. The tearful ignorance of the one Is just as consoling as the learned And unmeaning words of the other. No man, standing where the horizon of a life Has touched a grave, has any right To prophesy a future filled with pain and tears. It may be that death gives all there is of worth to life. If those who press and strain against our hearts Could never die, perhaps that love would wither from the earth. Maybe a common faith treads from out the paths between our hearts The weeds of selfishness. And I should rather live and love where death is king Than have eternal life where love is not. Another life is nought unless we know and love again The ones who love us here. They who stand with breaking hearts around this little grave Need have no fear. The largest and the nobler faith in all that is and is to be Tells us that death, even at its worst, is only perfect rest. We know that through the common wants of life The need of death, the need of death, The wants of life, the needs and duties of each hour Their grief will lessen day by day Until at last these graves will be to them A place of rest and peace, almost of joy. There is for them this consolation. The dead do not suffer. If they live again Their lives will surely be as good as ours. We have no fear. We are all children of the same mother and the same fate awaits us all. We too have our religion and it is this Help for the living. Hope for the dead. End of reading. This recording is in the public domain. A parting guest by James Whitcomb Riley Read for LibriVox.org by Ruth Golding What delightful hosts are they, life and love? Lingeringly I turn away this late hour Yet glad enough they have not withheld from me Their high hospitality. So with face lit with delight And all gratitude I stay yet to press their hands And say thanks, so fine a time. Good night. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Remember by Christina Rossetti Read for LibriVox.org by Ruth Golding Remember me when I am gone away Gone far away into the silent land When you can no more hold me by the hand Nor I half turn to go yet turning stay Remember me when no more day by day You tell me of our future that you planned Only remember me. You understand it will be late to counsel then or pray Yet if you should forget me for a while And afterwards remember, do not grieve For if the darkness and corruption leave A vestige of the thoughts that once I had Better by far you should forget and smile Than that you should remember and be sad. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Requiem by Robert Louis Stevenson Read for LibriVox.org by Ruth Golding Under the wide and starry sky Dig the grave and let me lie Glad did I live and gladly die And I laid me down with a will. This be the verse you grave for me Here he lies where he longed to be Home is the sailor, home from the sea And the hunter, home from the hill. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. To my dear and loving husband By Anne Bradstreet Recorded for LibriVox.org by Ruth Golding If ever two were one then surely we If ever man were loved by wife then thee If ever wife was happy in a man Compare with me ye women if you can I prize thy love more than whole Mines of gold or all the riches That the east doth hold. My love is such that rivers cannot quench Nor ought by love from thee give recompense Thy love is such I can no way reply The heavens reward the manifold I pray Then while we live in love let so persever That when we live no more we may live ever. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Union of Friends by William Penn Read for LibriVox.org by Ruth Golding They that love beyond the world Cannot be separated by it. Death cannot kill what never dies. Nor can spirits ever be divided That love and live in the same divine principle The root and record of their friendship. If absence be not death neither is theirs. Death is but crossing the world As friends do the seas they live in one another still. For they must needs be present That love and live in that which is only present. In this divine glass they see face to face And their converse is free as well as pure. This is the comfort of friends That though they may be said to die Yet their friendship and society Are in the best sense ever present Because immortal. End of reading. This recording is in the public domain. What is Success by Bessie A. Stanley Read for LibriVox.org by Ruth Golding He has achieved success who has lived well, laughed often and loved much, who has gained the respect of intelligent men and the love of little children, who has filled his niche and accomplished his task whether by an improved poppy, a perfect poem or a rescued soul, who has never lacked appreciation of earth's beauty or failed to express it, who has always looked for the best in others and given the best he had, whose life was an inspiration and whose memory a benediction. End of reading. This recording is in the public domain. Sonnet 30 by William Shakespeare Read for LibriVox.org by Ruth Golding When to the sessions of sweet silent thought I summon up remembrance of things past I sigh the lack of many a thing I sought and with old woes knew wail my dear time's waste. Then can I drown an eye unused to flow for precious friends hid in death's dateless night and weep afresh loves long since cancelled woe and moan the expense of many a vanished sight. Then can I grieve at grievances foregone and heavily from woe to woe tell o'er the sad account of forbimonid moan which I knew pay as if not paid before. But if the while I think on thee, dear friend, all losses are restored and sorrows end.