This poem was in a sympathy card that a friend of mine received a few months ago. I thought it was great and since I have a wall with a rose bush growing up it and a decorative 'crevice' in it I'm hoping to someday get a photo to accompany the poem.
THE ROSE STILL GROWS BEYOND THE WALL
Near a shady wall a rose once grew,
Budded and blossomed in God's free light,
Watered and fed by morning dew,
Shedding its sweetness day and night.
As it grew and blossomed fair and tall,
Slowly rising to loftier height,
It came to a crevice in the wall,
Through which there shone a beam of light.
Onward it crept with added strength,
With never a thought of fear or pride,
It followed the light through the crevice's length,
And unfolded itself on the other side.
The light, the dew, the broadening view
Were found the same as they were before;
And it lost itself in beauties new,
Breathing its fragrance more and more.
Shall claim of death cause us to grieve,
And make our courage faint or fail?
Nay! Let us faith and hope receive:
The rose still grows beyond the wall.
Scattering fragrance far and wide,
Just as it did in days of yore,
Just as it did on the other side,
Just as it will for evermore.
by A. L. Frink
At another funeral I went to last year. The deceased lady's sister invited all of the great grandchildren to come forward. She gave them each a pretty seashell to keep. She then explained how like that seashell their Granny's body was. The living, thinking, loving part of her was gone, now with the Lord. The coffin only contained the empty shell.
She even invited them to ask questions, which they did. Brave lady. You can imagine the questions. They were very candid, but the children had a real need for answers (even to questions that seemed a bit macabre to us).
It was a great send off for that much-loved great grandma.