Bury me not with strangers
Don’t leave me among the unknown
Who never knew my name
In a land which I do not claim
Take me to where I belong
A place I call my home
To lay where my ancestors lie
And receive my welcome good-bye
No one should die
And not be remembered
No one should perish
Without being recognized
Memories last
Till time has passed
Few and short are the days we are given
Mortal men leaving only their names
Peace and rest but not for the living
To a place where names are acclaimed
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“We bury love;Forgetfulness grows over it like grass:
That is a thing to weep for,not the dead.”
Alexander Smith
“O Time the fatal wrack of mortal things,
That draws oblivion’s curtains over kings;
Their sumptuous monuments,men know them not,
Their names without a record are forgot,
Their parts, their ports, their pomps all laid in th’ dust
Nor wit nor gold , nor buildings scape time’s rust;
But he whose name is graved in the white stone
Shall last and shine when all of these are gone.”
Anne Bradstreet (1612-1672)
