Poems and prayers from Nancy's celebration

We seem to give them back to Thee, 0 God who gavest them to us.
Yet as Thou didst not lose them in giving,
So do we not lose them by their return.
Not as the world giveth, givest Thou 0 Lover of souls.
What Thou givest Thou takest not away,
For what is Thine is ours also if we are thine.
And life is eternal and love is immortal,
And death is only a horizon,
And a horizon is nothing save the limit of our sight.
Lift us up, strong Son of God that we may see further;
Cleanse our eyes that we may see more clearly;
Draw us closer to Thyself
That we may know ourselves to be nearer to our loved ones who are with Thee.
And while Thou dost prepare a place for us, prepare us also for that happy
place,
That where Thou art we may be also for evermore.

--Bishop Brent
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A long time I have lived with you
And now we must be going
Separately to be together.
Perhaps I shall be the wind
To blur your smooth waters
So that you do not see your face too much.
Perhaps I shall be the star
To guide your uncertain wings
So that you have direction in the night.
Perhaps I shall be the fire
To separate your thoughts
So that you do not give up.
Perhaps I shall be the rain
To open up the earth
So that your seed may fall.
Perhaps I shall be the snow
To let your blossoms sleep
So that you may bloom in the spring.
Perhaps I shall be the stream
To play a song on the rock
So that you are not alone.
Perhaps I shall be a new mountain
So that you always have a home.

--Nancy Wood

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We go from whence we came
We came from whence we go.
With love to guide us here
To be love there.
Perched above all that sustained us—
In dawn’s breaking light.
Go to the light.
Be love.

--David Ahmann

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If I should die (and die I must) please let it be in Spring
When I, and the life up-budding shall be one,
And green and lovely things shall blend with all I was
And all I hope to be.
The chemistry
Of miracle within the heart of love and life abundant
Shall be mine, and I shall pluck the star-dust and shall know
The mystery within the blade,
And sing the wind’s song in the softness of the flowered glade.
April is the time for parting, not because all nature’s tears
Presage the blooming time of May.
But joyous should be death and its adventure
As night gives way to day.

--George C. Whitney