Then there is THE DIRGE By Rev R.S. Hawker of Morwenstow, Cornwall......

Sing from the cradle to the grave
Thus did the dead man say
A sound of melody I crave
Upon my burial day

Bring forth some tuneful instrument
And let your voices rise
My spirit listened as it went
To music of the skies

Sing sweetly as you travel on
And keep the funeral slow
The angels sing where I am gone
And you should sing below

Sing from the threshold to the proch
Until you hear the bell
And sing you loudly in the church
The psalms I love so well

Then bear me gently to the grave
And as you pass along
Remember, 'twas my wish to have
A pleasant funeral song

So earth to earth and dust to dust
And though my flesh decay
My soul shall sing amongst the just
Until the judement day.


Hawker wrote of this poem..... 'The first line of these verses haunted my memory and the lips of a good and blameless young farmer who died in my parish some years ago. It was as I conceived, a fragment of some forgotten dirge of which he could remember no more. But it was his strong desire that the words should be put upon his headstone and he wished me also to write some other words to make it complete. I fulfilled this entreaty and the stranger who visits the churchyard will find this dirge carven in stone in sweet remembrance of the just and to the praise of the dead Richard Cann.'

I have heard it sung to a beautiful tune by Tony & Miranda Truscott of Cornwall.
Cheers, Lucy