Do not stand at my grave and forever weep.
I am not there; I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow.
I am the diamond glints on snow.
I am the sunlight on ripened grain.
I am the gentle autumn’s rain.
When you awaken in the morning’s hush
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circled flight.
I am the soft stars that shine at night.
Do not stand at my grave and forever cry.
I am not there. I did not die.
Author: Mary Frye
We pray our sights be straight
and our aim be true
We pray for no pain
to the game we pursue
We thank you Lord
for this land
We thank you for the sights
from our stands
We pray for safety, one and all
We pray we may return next fall
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