Sep 2013
Today as we tended,
Our garden of tears,
I considered so many,
Forgotten by years.
Ashes to ashes,
And dust to dust;
What more is left,
After moth and rust,
Have taken their toll,
On this fragile frame.
Does their memory live on?
Or just their name?
Etched into stone,
On a hillside of green,
Pushed aside by the living,
Generations between.
When flowers no longer
Are laid at their grave,
And visits made only
To a name on a page.
And all they accomplished,
Left to cynics and critics,
Does life really matter?
Or how it is finished?
Yes! Each matters to God,
Though forgotten by man;
Each remembered by He,
Who laid out earth’s plan.
And purpose fulfilled,
For which we were born,
Passes death’s veil,
A crown to adorn.
In that day we'll know,
Then His plan will be clear,
When sinners called saints,
To their home He draws near.
Our garden of tears,
I considered so many,
Forgotten by years.
Ashes to ashes,
And dust to dust;
What more is left,
After moth and rust,
Have taken their toll,
On this fragile frame.
Does their memory live on?
Or just their name?
Etched into stone,
On a hillside of green,
Pushed aside by the living,
Generations between.
When flowers no longer
Are laid at their grave,
And visits made only
To a name on a page.
And all they accomplished,
Left to cynics and critics,
Does life really matter?
Or how it is finished?
Yes! Each matters to God,
Though forgotten by man;
Each remembered by He,
Who laid out earth’s plan.
And purpose fulfilled,
For which we were born,
Passes death’s veil,
A crown to adorn.
In that day we'll know,
Then His plan will be clear,
When sinners called saints,
To their home He draws near.
~
post script.
(this note added Memorial Day, 2015)
as we paid tribute again today, i was reminded of this write from several years back. my son is laid to rest near an older section of the cemetery and on days like these when many pay tribute, the line between markers laid over 50 years previous that bear no flowers and those laid more recently and are adorned lavishly, is a stark reminder of how long after we are gone our descendants will remember us. it is easy to look at this with cynicism... and then i remember , its not my memory that really counts anyway... a most comforting thought in an otherwise dark moment.
post script.
(this note added Memorial Day, 2015)
as we paid tribute again today, i was reminded of this write from several years back. my son is laid to rest near an older section of the cemetery and on days like these when many pay tribute, the line between markers laid over 50 years previous that bear no flowers and those laid more recently and are adorned lavishly, is a stark reminder of how long after we are gone our descendants will remember us. it is easy to look at this with cynicism... and then i remember , its not my memory that really counts anyway... a most comforting thought in an otherwise dark moment.
