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Funeral poemsDoing the right thing

Doing the right thing

Reading time: 40 seconds

Modern Plain English Stoic Uplifting

Lucas Jones · 2024

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Doing the right thing

Lucas Jones · 2024

We are not licensed to show this poem here. You can still read it aloud at a funeral.

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Modern Plain English Stoic Uplifting

Meaning

Doing the right thing gets you no thank you and no standing ovation. You watch other people win using what you suggested, empty your own cup to water theirs, and carry the weight of lessons that were not yours. The silver lining is that nobody will ever know it was you, and the world is kinder anyway.

Who's it for

Someone whose kindness nobody ever thanked them for. Right for a family who want that said plainly at last.

Lucas Jones

British · Around 30 years old

@lucassjoness

@lucasthejones

linktr.ee/lucassjoness

Lucas Jones is an actor and a poet. He grew up in Huntingdon in a pentecostal family, moved house seven times before he was fourteen, and lives in London now. He started putting poems on the internet in 2023 and more than a million people follow him.

More about Lucas Jones →

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We are not licensed to show this poem here. You can still read it aloud at a funeral.

Hear Lucas Jones read it on TikTok.

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Chasing Tomorrow

This poem is for a family who keep saying they wish they had had more time. It turns that into a resolution instead of a regret.

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Death stands above me

This poem is for a family who do not believe in anything particular and would rather not pretend they do. Right for someone who was not afraid at the end.

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Death, be not proud

This poem is for a believer, and a family who want something with some fight in it rather than a quiet goodbye. It suits a person who argued back all their life.

A classicReligious

1633

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Death, be not proud, though some have callèd thee Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so: For those whom thou think'st thou dost overthrow Die not, poor Death; nor yet canst thou kill me. From Rest and Sleep, which but thy picture be, Much pleasure, then from thee much more must flow; And soonest our best men with thee do go-- Rest of their bones and souls' delivery! Thou'rt slave to fate, chance, kings, and desperate men, And dost with poison, war, and sickness dwell; And poppy or charms can make us sleep as well And better than thy stroke. Why swell'st thou then? One short sleep past, we wake eternally, And Death shall be no more: Death, thou shalt die!

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Fear No More the Heat o' the Sun

This poem is for a person who worked hard all their life and had had enough by the end. It also fits someone who never cared much who was important and who wasn't.

A classicA long life

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50 sec

Fear no more the heat o' the sun, Nor the furious winter's rages: Thou thy worldly task hast done, Home art gone, and ta'en thy wages: Golden lads and girls all must, As chimney-sweepers, come to dust. Fear no more the frown o' the great, Thou art past the tyrant's stroke; Care no more to clothe and eat; To thee the reed is as the oak: The sceptre, learning, physic, must All follow this, and come to dust. Fear no more the lightning flash Nor the all-dreaded thunder-stone; Fear not slander, censure rash; Thou hast finish'd joy and moan: All lovers young, all lovers must Consign to thee, and come to dust.

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ModernNon-religious

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Holding On

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I am not the world

This poem is for a humble life, in five lines. Right for a reader who wants to say one true thing and sit down.

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We are not licensed to show this poem here. You can still read it aloud at a funeral.

Hear Lucas Jones read it on TikTok.

More about this poem →

I Shall Not Care

This poem is for someone who was their own person and never needed anyone's approval. Right for a woman who did things her own way and would have hated a fuss.

Non-religiousStoic

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25 sec

I strove with none

This poem is for someone who reached a good age and stayed out of other people's arguments. Right for a person who loved being outdoors or worked with their hands, and was content by the end.

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If—

This poem is for someone who got on with things, kept their temper, and didn’t make a fuss when life went against them. The sort of person other people steadied themselves against.

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If you can keep your head when all about you Are losing theirs and blaming it on you; If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you, But make allowance for their doubting too; If you can wait and not be tired by waiting, Or being lied about, don’t deal in lies, Or being hated, don’t give way to hating, And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise; If you can dream—and not make dreams your master; If you can think—and not make thoughts your aim, If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster And treat those two impostors just the same; If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools, Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken, And stoop and build ’em up with worn-out tools; If you can make one heap of all your winnings And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss, And lose, and start again at your beginnings And never breathe a word about your loss; If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew To serve your turn long after they are gone, And so hold on when there is nothing in you Except the Will which says to them: ‘Hold on!’ If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue, Or walk with Kings—nor lose the common touch, If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you, If all men count with you, but none too much; If you can fill the unforgiving minute With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run, Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it, And—which is more—you’ll be a Man, my son!

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50 sec

Out of the night that covers me, Black as the Pit from pole to pole, I thank whatever gods may be For my unconquerable soul. In the fell clutch of circumstance I have not winced nor cried aloud. Under the bludgeonings of chance My head is bloody, but unbowed. Beyond this place of wrath and tears Looms but the Horror of the shade, And yet the menace of the years Finds, and shall find, me unafraid. It matters not how strait the gate, How charged with punishments the scroll, I am the master of my fate: I am the captain of my soul.

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This poem is for a man who kept a sense of purpose right to the end. Right for a family who want to say what he was for rather than what he was like.

ModernPlain English

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We are not licensed to show this poem here. You can still read it aloud at a funeral.

Hear Lucas Jones read it on TikTok.

More about this poem →

A Psalm of Life

This poem is for someone who never sat still and left things behind them: a business, a trade, a houseful of people they taught. Right for a life spent being useful.

A classicPlain English

1838

2 min

Tell me not, in mournful numbers, Life is but an empty dream! For the soul is dead that slumbers, And things are not what they seem. Life is real! Life is earnest! And the grave is not its goal; Dust thou art, to dust returnest, Was not spoken of the soul. Not enjoyment, and not sorrow, Is our destined end or way; But to act, that each to-morrow Find us farther than to-day. Art is long, and Time is fleeting, And our hearts, though stout and brave, Still, like muffled drums, are beating Funeral marches to the grave. In the world's broad field of battle, In the bivouac of Life, Be not like dumb, driven cattle! Be a hero in the strife! Trust no Future, howe'er pleasant! Let the dead Past bury its dead! Act,--act in the living Present! Heart within, and God o'erhead! Lives of great men all remind us We can make our lives sublime, And, departing, leave behind us Footprints on the sands of time;-- Footprints, that perhaps another, Sailing o'er life's solemn main, A forlorn and shipwrecked brother, Seeing, shall take heart again. Let us, then, be up and doing, With a heart for any fate; Still achieving, still pursuing, Learn to labor and to wait.

Read the whole poem →

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This poem is for a child's funeral, or a family who want somewhere hopeful to put the question without naming a religion. It is playful on purpose.

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We are not licensed to show this poem here. You can still read it aloud at a funeral.

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This poem is for a nurse, a carer, or anybody who worked in the room where people die. Right for a service full of colleagues who did the same job.

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We are not licensed to show this poem here. You can still read it aloud at a funeral.

Hear Lucas Jones read it on TikTok.

More about this poem →

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Life has loveliness to sell, All beautiful and splendid things, Blue waves whitened on a cliff, Soaring fire that sways and sings, And children's faces looking up Holding wonder like a cup. Life has loveliness to sell, Music like a curve of gold, Scent of pine trees in the rain, Eyes that love you, arms that hold, And for your spirit's still delight, Holy thoughts that star the night. Spend all you have for loveliness, Buy it and never count the cost; For one white singing hour of peace Count many a year of strife well lost, And for a breath of ecstasy Give all you have been, or could be.

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Death, be not proud

This poem is for a believer, and a family who want something with some fight in it rather than a quiet goodbye. It suits a person who argued back all their life.

A classicReligious

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Read the whole poem →

Death's probably a gift

This poem is for a family who want comfort without religion. Right after a long life, or a long illness that was fought hard.

ModernNon-religious

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We are not licensed to show this poem here. You can still read it aloud at a funeral.

Hear Lucas Jones read it on TikTok.

More about this poem →

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This poem is for someone who stayed hopeful without ever making a show of it, and kept other people going by it.

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We are not licensed to show this poem here. You can still read it aloud at a funeral.

Hear Lucas Jones read it on TikTok.

More about this poem →

I'd do it all again

This poem is for a friend, read by the friend who nearly did not make it either. Right for a service where the people in the room got each other through something.

For a friendModern

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55 sec

We are not licensed to show this poem here. You can still read it aloud at a funeral.

Hear Lucas Jones read it on TikTok.

More about this poem →

It is not growing like a tree

This poem is for anyone who died young, and a family who need to hear that a short life was still a whole one. Right for a person who packed a lot in.

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This poem is for a family being told what they still have, on the way out. Right for a closing reading where the room needs sending home rather than consoling.

ModernPlain English

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We are not licensed to show this poem here. You can still read it aloud at a funeral.

Hear Lucas Jones read it on TikTok.

More about this poem →

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This poem is for a husband or wife who was told how long they had. Right for a family who watched somebody spend their last weeks reassuring everybody else.

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We are not licensed to show this poem here. You can still read it aloud at a funeral.

Hear Lucas Jones read it on TikTok.

More about this poem →

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This poem is for a man who kept a sense of purpose right to the end. Right for a family who want to say what he was for rather than what he was like.

ModernPlain English

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50 sec

We are not licensed to show this poem here. You can still read it aloud at a funeral.

Hear Lucas Jones read it on TikTok.

More about this poem →

A simple poem for someone who's dead

This poem is for a child reading at a funeral, or anybody who can only manage four lines. Right where somebody wants to speak and knows they will not get through much.

For a childGentle

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We are not licensed to show this poem here. You can still read it aloud at a funeral.

Hear Lucas Jones read it on TikTok.

More about this poem →

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We are not licensed to show this poem here. You can still read it aloud at a funeral.

Hear Lucas Jones read it on TikTok.

More about this poem →

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We are not licensed to show this poem here. You can still read it aloud at a funeral.

Hear Lucas Jones read it on TikTok.

More about this poem →

Afterlife

This poem is for a child's funeral, or a family who want somewhere hopeful to put the question without naming a religion. It is playful on purpose.

For a childModern

We are not licensed to show this poem here. You can still read it aloud at a funeral.

More about this poem →

Afterparty

This poem is for a family being swallowed by the ugly end of grief. It tells them what the anger is made of without asking them to feel better yet.

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We are not licensed to show this poem here. You can still read it aloud at a funeral.

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Again

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We are not licensed to show this poem here. You can still read it aloud at a funeral.

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ComfortingModern

We are not licensed to show this poem here. You can still read it aloud at a funeral.

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And the angels said

This poem is for someone whose whole identity was being loved by one person. Right for the shortest possible reading at a partner's funeral.

For a partnerGentle

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10 sec

We are not licensed to show this poem here. You can still read it aloud at a funeral.

Hear Lucas Jones read it on TikTok.

More about this poem →

Are you winning

This poem is for a nurse, a carer, or anybody who worked in the room where people die. Right for a service full of colleagues who did the same job.

ModernPlain English

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1 min

We are not licensed to show this poem here. You can still read it aloud at a funeral.

Hear Lucas Jones read it on TikTok.

More about this poem →

Boys and their dads

This poem is for a father and son who got it almost right. Right for a service where a man is going to have to stand up and talk about his dad.

For a fatherModern

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2 min

We are not licensed to show this poem here. You can still read it aloud at a funeral.

Hear Lucas Jones read it on TikTok.

More about this poem →

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