Funeral Poems for An Outdoorsman can provide significant comfort for grieving families. We have collected funeral poems which are perfect for a fisherman, camper, hunter or hiking enthusiast. When a loved one loses their life, people need to hear a message of hope. Although some days may be full of hardship and sadness, each breath, heartbeat, and thought illustrates the beautiful gift of life. Keep the memories alive with the Funeral Poems for An Outdoorsman collected here. Hold on to the positive memories and express gratitude for the countless blessings in your past, present, and future.
Likewise, by recognizing and appreciating the value of life in all its forms, you can cultivate a deeper sense of gratitude, which in turn nurtures a more resilient and hopeful spirit in the face of life’s adversities. Above all, we hope these Perfect for a fisherman, camper, hunter or hiking enthusiast. bring you comfort. And they are also perfect for a fisherman, camper, hunter or hiking enthusiast. While Funeral Poems for An Outdoorsman cannot undo this tragic loss, but we hope they can give you hope or offer support.
Funeral Poems for An Outdoorsman
FISHING RELATED FUNERAL POEMS
Gone Fishing
I’ve finished life’s chores assigned to me,
So put me on a boat headed out to sea.
Please send along my fishing pole
For I’ve been invited to the fishin’ hole.
Where every day is a day to fish,
To fill your heart with every wish.
Don’t worry, or feel sad for me,
I’m fishin’ with the Master of the sea.
We will miss each other for awhile,
But you will come and bring your smile.
That won’t be long you will see,
Till we’re together you and me.
To all of those that think of me,
Be happy as I go out to sea.
If others wonder why I’m missin’
Just tell ’em I’ve gone fishin’
Dalmar Pepper
. . . . . . . . .
Fisher of Men
Beyond the clouds, beside a pool, an angel bides his time,
So patient, pure and peaceful, he casts afar his line
Baited with his love, enough for every one,
He simply waits, waits and smiles beneath the endless sun.
It’s not the ones he catches – for these shall know his love,
But those who slip away, not knowing that above
Another world is waiting; those who seek shall find
And sit beside this fisherman, and know true peace of mind.
. . . . . . . . .
The Fisherman’s Prayer
Our fisherman
Who art on riverbanks
Angler be thy name
Thy fishing season comes
Thy casting will be done
The weather will be heavenly.
Give us this day lots of bites
And forgive us our laughter
As we forgive you, your
Lies about the one that got away.
Lead us to a shoal of fish
And deliver us a big catch
For thine is the carp
The Pike and the Trout
Forever and ever,
Amen.
. . . . . . . . .
Heaven’s Fishing Hole
For years, the riverbank was where
Your soul felt most at peace
Your heart was most content when there
With the fish and the geese.
But then, your spirit came to rest
Where angels chose to roam
And once equipped with ten-pound test
You made yourself at home.
The sky became your deep blue sea
The clouds became your shore
And there, for all eternity
You sat with friends galore.
Each angel was a fisherman
Who had traded his pole
For golden wings and a game plan
At Heaven’s Fishing Hole.
. . . . . . . . .
The River
There is a place that I can go
That’s peaceful and serene
Where there are no appointments or phones
A place to ponder my dreams
A modest little wooden house
Is waiting for me there,
And as I enter into its doors
Away go all my cares…
-
My heart is filled with memories
That can never be replaced
Although they make me sad at times
I know life’s too precious to waste -
To fight a fish across the miles
And reel him into view
Or simply float across the stretch
Of endless tranquil blue -
To sit upon the pier at night
And gaze at the star-filled sky
That’s always bigger and clearer there
It doesn’t matter why -
A man must have a place to go
Where his mind and soul are free
If he’s lucky enough to find that door
Then God will turn the key -
The river is my secret spot
Its banks run clear and strong
And each time I return to them
I know that I belong -
Debbie Meyer
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Funeral Poems for A Hunter
HUNTING RELATED FUNERAL POEMS
cherish you again,
never more will the rain.Never more
shall we find you bright
in the snow and wind.The snow is melted,
the snow is gone,
and you are flown:Like a bird out of our hand,
like a light out of our heart,
you are gone.
The Deer Hunter’s Prayer
Heavenly father, to you I pray,
A majestic deer may come my way.
Let my aim be straight and true,
this my Lord, I pray to you.
A swift clean passing is what I ask,
Take his spirit swift and fast.
For his last breath should not be,
One of pain or agony.
Let his soul,
Come to Thee,
To roam your heavens,
Wild and free.
Dale Sunderlin
. . . . . . . . .
The Deer Hunters Prayer Version 2
Father, when my last hunt is over and I leave these woods behind
I would like to ask a favor if you would be so kind
That when I enter through the pearly gates and come into your glory land
Instead of the mansion you promised my Lord
How about just an old tree stand?
John Kolade
. . . . . . . . .
The Hunter
the outdoors is where I will always be.
many memories I will cherish for I was free.
getting up early to see the sun rise
trying to outsmart that buck who is truly wise
sitting in my tree stand or having a quiet lunch
its these times I will miss so much
most people will never truly value what us hunters see
these memories will always stay with me
i leave this place leaving nothing to chance
i will now ask the lord “may I have this dance?
I will now hunt and fish everyday
for it was Gods wish for now to stay.
dont cry or feel sad for me.
I will be the one flying up in the sky for you all to see….
. . . . . . . . .
The Hunter of the Prairies (an excerpt)
AY, this is freedom!—these pure skies
Were never stained with village smoke:
The fragrant wind, that through them flies,
Is breathed from wastes by plough unbroke.
Here, with my rifle and my steed,
And her who left the world for me,
I plant me, where the red deer feed
In the green desert—and am free.
William Cullen Bryant
. . . . . . . . .
Only for a Short While
Oh, only for so short a while you
have loaned us to each other,
because we take form in your act of drawing us,
and we take life in your painting us,
and we breathe in your singing us.
But only for so short a while
have you loaned us to each other.
Because even a drawing cut in obsidian fades,
and the green feathers, the crown feathers,
of the Quetzal bird lose their color,
and even the sounds of the waterfall
die out in the dry season.
So, we too, because only for a short while
have you loaned us to each other.
Aztec Indian Prayer
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Funeral Poems for An Outdoorsman
GENERAL OUTDOORS THEME
I Hold The Heights
I have not lost the magic of long days,
I live them, dream them still
Still I am a master of the starry ways,
And freeman of the hills;
Shattered my glass, ere half the sands had run.
I hold the heights, I hold the heights, I won.
What if I live no more those kingly days?
Their night sleeps with me still.
I dream my feet upon the starry ways;
My heart rests in the hill.
I may not grudge, the little left undone.
I hold the heights, I keep the dreams I won.
Geoffrey Winthrop Young
. . . . . . . . .
The Peace of Wild Things
When despair for the world grows in me
and I wake in the night at the least sound
in fear of what my life and my children’s lives may be,
I go and lie down where the wood drake
rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds.
I come into the peace of wild things
who do not tax their lives with forethought
of grief. I come into the presence of still water.
And I feel above me the day-blind stars
waiting with their light. For a time
I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.
WENDELL BERRY
. . . . . . . . .
We Remember Them
At the rising of the sun and at its going down
We remember them.
At the blowing of the wind and in the chill of winter
We remember them.
At the opening of the buds and in the rebirth of spring
We remember them.
At the blueness of the skies and in the warmth of summer
We remember them.
At the rustling of the leaves and in the beauty of autumn
We remember them.
At the beginning of the year and when it ends
We remember them.
As long as we live, they too will live;
for they are now a part of us
as we remember them.
Rabbis Sylvan Kamens and Jack Riemer
he looks into the night and hears the call of the Whippoorwill.
He sees the distant lights of home,
as he feels the cool winter wind begin to moan.
He begins to feel a warmth, deep inside his heart,
as the northern Lights begin to start.His time on the range has seemed to come to an end,
and now there is a new era to begin.
There is one thing in this whole world that will never fall apart
that his love for his family and the love for the range deep inside his heart.
A giant pine, magnificent and old stood staunch against the sky
and all around shed beauty, grace and power.
Within its fold birds safely reared their young.
The velvet ground beneath was gentle,
and the cooling shade gave cheer to passers by.
Its towering arms a landmark stood, erect and unafraid,
As if to say, “Fear naught from life’s alarms”.
It fell one day.
Where it had dauntless stood was loneliness and void.
But men who passed paid tribute – and said,
“To know this life was good,
It left its mark on me. Its work stands fast”.
And so it lives. Such life no bonds can hold –
This giant pine, magnificent and old.
Georgia Harkness
