Old Cemetery on the Hill

On this date . . . the 15th day of November . . . in the year 1877 . . . in San Patricio County, Texas . . . occurs the death of Susanna O'Docharty, who was tall and slender with a shock of red hair . . . this Susanna, along with many of her family members, were laid to rest in the Old Cemetery on the Hill . . . it has been said of her that she accurately predicted her own death . . . the following is a portion of what is referred to as her epitaph . . . it is from a collection of stories handed down through generations by oral tradition . . .

And now I lie with them upon this hill
Mingling with Texas earth as seasons come and go.
Chilling northers bend grasses almost to the ground;
Low-hung clouds are misty blankets
Dropping days of rain upon the earth.

Then wild flowers make sweet the air in spring;
At dawn birds chirp and trill as if to wake us,
But we lie immutable, insensible to summer heat and winter cold . . .
While we lie here a segment of a forgotten colony.




Here I lie beside my own --
A hundred springs have come and gone
Since first I lay upon this lonely hill. . . .

A Radiant Dawn is Breaking

When, on my eve of life,
a radiant dawn is breaking
and whispering winds
from Heaven's bright plains
are blown,

 

I hear,
from out the sunrise,
voices calling
my feet to brighter paths,
untried,
unknown.

E.E.L.

 Emily Emerson Lantz 

1862 ~ 1931

The Christmas of 1888

New York Times
December 18, 1888

Whittier's Birthday. Quietly Celebrated at his Farmhouse at Oak Knoll. 

Danvers, Mass., 
Dec. 17. -- At the quiet farmhouse at Oak Knoll, on the outskirts of the town of Danvers, there was a pleasant family circle to-day, and one of the most beloved of New-England's famous sons received congratulations on his eighty-first birthday. 

Here, surrounded with the tender care of the Misses Johnson and Mrs. Woodman the poet, John G. Whittier is quietly passing the Winter. Today being the anniversary of his birth The Time's representative called to pay his respects. 

The poet was found in his library, his erect figure and bright but kindly eye and the warm pressure of the hand gave but little token that more than fourscore years had passed over his head. A slight defect in hearing and snow-white hair and beard are the outward symbols of his ripe years. . . . 

Whittier would write of The Christmas of 1888 as follows . . .

Low in the east, against a white, cold dawn,
The black-lined silhouette of the woods was drawn,
And on a wintry waste
Of frosted streams and hillsides bare and brown,
Through thin cloud-films a pallid ghost looked down,
The waning moon half-faced.
In that pale sky and sere, snow-waiting earth,
What sign was there of the immortal birth?
What herald of the One?
Lo! swift as thought the heavenly radiance came,
A rose-red splendor swept the sky like flame,
Up rolled the round, bright sun!
And all was changed. From a transfigured world
The moon's ghost fled, the smoke of home-hearths curled
Up to the still air unblown.
In Orient warmth and brightness, did that morn
O'er Nain and Nazereth, when the Christ was born,
Break fairer than our own?
The morning's promise noon and eve fulfilled
In warm, soft sky and landscape hazy-filled
And sunset fair as they;
A sweet reminder of His holiest time,
A summer-miracle in our winter clime,
God gave a perfect day.
The near was blended with the old and far,
And Bethlehem's hillside and the Magi's star
Seemed here, as there and then, --
Our homestead pine-tree was the Syrian palm,
Our heart's desire the angels' midnight psalm,
Peace, and good-will to men!

See also ::

• Barefoot Boy (1855)
• Snow-bound -- A Winter Idyll (1865)
• Christmas of 1888 (1888) 
• Reminiscences of John Greenleaf Whittier's life at Oak Knoll  
• Happy Birthday, Fireside Poet
• The Book our Mothers Read

A little smile, a word of cheer,
A bit of love
from someone near,
A little gift from one held dear,
Best wishes for the coming year...
These make a Merry Christmas!
John Greenleaf Whittier 17 December 1807 ~ 07 September 1892

If I Had Only Known

In loving memory
of
~ Bennie Everhart ~
20 March 1948 ~ 07 April 2010

If I had only known
It was the last walk in the rain
I'd keep you out for hours in the storm
I would hold your hand
Like a life line to my heart
Underneath the thunder we'd be warm
If I had only known
It was our last walk in the rain

If I had only known
I'd never hear your voice again
I'd memorize each thing you ever said
And on those lonely nights
I could think of them once more
Keep your words alive inside my head
If I had only known
I'd never hear your voice again

You were the treasure in my hand
You were the one who always stood beside me
So unaware I foolishly believed
That you would always be there
But then there came a day
And I turned my head and you slipped away

If I had only known
It was my last night by your side
I'd pray a miracle would stop the dawn
And when you'd smile at me
I would look into your eyes
And make sure you know my love
For you goes on and on
If I had only known
If I had only known
The love I would've shown
If I had only known

Written
by
Jana Stanfield & Craig Morris

Sung
by
Reba McEntire

Farewell, Old Year

Farewell, Old Year, we walk no more together,
I catch the sweetness of thy latest sigh;
And, crowned with yellow brake and withered heather,
I see thee stand beneath this cloudy sky.

Here, in the dim light of a gray December,
We part in smiles, and yet we met in tears,
Watching thy chilly dawn, I well remember
I thought thee saddest born of all the years.


I knew not then what precious gifts were hidden
Under the mists that veiled thy path from sight;
I knew not then that joy would come unbidden
To make thy closing hours divinely bright.


I only saw the dreary clouds unbroken,
I only heard the plash of icy rain;
And in that winter gloom, I found no token
To tell me that the sun would shine again.


O dear Old Year, I wronged a Father's kindness;
I would not trust Him with my load of care,
I stumbled on in weariness and blindness,
And lo! He blessed me with an answered prayer.


Good-bye, kind Year! We walk no more together,
But here in quiet happiness we part;
And, from thy wreath of faded fern and heather,
I take some sprays and wear them on my heart.


by
Sarah Doudney (1841-1926)
found in
1882 The Living Age

The Shades of Evening

". . . Thus was his fair dawn of life, whilst his cloudless sun was nearing its meridian, in a moment veiled in the shades of death. . . . As the stars of heaven shine brighter at the close of day when the shades of evening gather over the earth, even so do his virtues beam with brighter lustre from the darkness of the silent tomb: and long shall it be ere there shall cease to be found in memory's waste, a green spot watered by the tears of affection for him who is gone."

Centennial History of Harrison, Maine: Containing the Centennial Celebration of 1905, and Historical and Biographical Matter :: By Alphonso Moulton, Howard L. Sampson, Granville Fernald :: Published by the authority of the town, 1909 :: Original from Harvard University :: Digitized Aug 21, 2006 :: 727 pages