If I Died

If I died today,
Would you act like you even cared?
If I died today,
Would it be too much for you to bare?

If I died tomorrow,
Would you even shed a single tear?
If I died tomorrow,
Would you wish me to be somewhere near?

If I died today,
Would you pretend to care about me more?
If I died today,
Wouldn’t things look more trivial than they did before?

If I died tomorrow,
Would you still not have a single care?
If I died tomorrow,
Would you miss me being there?

If I died today,
There’s one thing that I should keep honest.
That if I died tomorrow,
You won’t be in control anymore I promise!

When You Put Your Hands On Me

When you put your hands on me,

Do you feel like you’re in control?

When you put your hands on me,

How do you feel within your soul?

 

When you put your hands on me,

How does it make you feel?

When you put your hands on me,

Does your broken mind start to heal?

 

When you put your hands on me,

Do you see the pain within my eyes?

When you put your hands on me,

Do you see our desperation subside?

 

When you put your hands on me,

Can’t you see that I’m giving up?

When you put your hands on me,

I know you see that I’m giving up.

Night and Dawn

When death is theme of thought or poet’s song.
It has its symbol in the “close of day,”
“The twilight hour of life when shadows throng
From out the past,””the evening still and grey.”
We think of night and of the great unknown,
Dim gulfs where vanished those we loved of earth;
And grieving hearts grow sadder,, left alone,
And some are shut through years from peace and mirth.

But as I watch the pageant of the years,
And mark the changes that the seasons bring.
Learn that to each come certain pain and tears.
Some hope or longing crushed to which they cling,
Then earthly days seem dusk with light withdrawn,
And death not night, but morning’s golden dawn.

NIGHT A
WRITTEN BY: Arthur Wallace Peach

Thou Dry’st The Mourner’s Tear

 

O Thou dry’st the mourner’s tear!How dark this world would be,
If, when deceived and wounded here,
We could not fly to Thee.
The friends, who in our sunshine live,
When winter comes are flown:
And he, who has but tears to give
Must weep those tears alone.
But Thou wilt heal that broken heart,
Which, like the plants that throw
Their fragrance from the wounded part,
Breathes sweetness out of woe.

When Joy no longer soothes or cheers,
And e’en the hope that threw
A moment sparkle o’er our tears,
Is dimm’d and vanish’d too!
Oh! Who would dare life stormy doom,
Did not thy wing of love
Come, brightly wafting through the gloom
Our peace branch from above?
Then sorrow touch’d by Thee, grows bright
With more than rapture’s ray:
As darkness shows us world of light
We never saw by day!

Author Unknown 

COMFORT 

COMFORT 

Oh, deem not they are blest alone
Whose lives a peaceful tenor keep;
The power who pities man, has shown
A blessing for the eyes that weep.

The light of smile shelf fill again
The lids that overflow with tears;
And weary hours of woe and pain
Are promises of happier years.

There is a day of sunny rest
For every dark and troubled night;
And grief may bide an evening guest,
But joy shall come with early light.

And thou, who, o’er thy friend’s low bier,
Dost shed the bitch her drops like rain,
Hope that a brighter, happier sphere
Will give him to thy arms again.

For God hath marked each sorrowing day
And numbered every secret tear,
And Heaven’s long age of bliss shall pay
For all His children suffer here.

 

WRITTEN BY:   William Cullen Bryant