Do Not Stand at My Grave and Weep

Do not stand at my grave and weep, I am not there. I do not sleep.
I am the thousand winds that blow. I am the diamond glints on snow...
I am the sunlight on ripened grain. I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you waken in the morning's hush, I am the swift uplifting rush
Of gentle birds in circling flight. I am the soft star that shines at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry I am not there... I did not die.

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May your blessings outnumber the shamrocks that grow,
And may trouble avoid you wherever you go.

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May the sun shine all day long, Everything go right and nothing go wrong. May those you love bring love back to you and may all the wishes you wish come true!
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There's a dear little plant that grows on our Isle. 'Twas Saint Patrick himself sure that set it, And the sun on his labor with pleasure did smile, And a ear from his eyes oft-times wet it.
It grows through the bog, through the brake, through the mireland, And they call it the dear little Shamrock of Ireland.
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May the leprechauns be near you. To spread luck along your way.

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May the blessings of light be upon you, Light without and light within, And in all your comings and goings, May you ever have a kindly greeting From them you meet along the road.
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May the road rise to meet you. May the wind be always at your back. May the sun shine warm upon your face. And rains fall soft upon your fields. And until we meet again, May God hold you in the hollow of His hand.

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May your neighbors respect you, Trouble neglect you, The angels protect you, And heaven accept you.