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. . . .

The Season of Light

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, we had everything before us, we had nothing before us, we were all going direct to heaven, we were all going direct the other way - in short, the period was so far like the present period, that some of its noisiest authorities insisted on its being received, for good or for evil, in the superlative degree of comparison only.


from
A Tale of Two Cities
by
Charles Dickens
07 February 1812 – 09 June 1870

Making memories of what was today

Hold tight to the sound of the music of living

Happy songs from the laughter of children at play;

Hold my hand as we run through the sweet fragrant meadows,

Making mem'ries of what was today.

Tender words, gentle touch, and a good cup of coffee,

And someone that loves me and wants me to stay;

Hold them near while they're here, and don't wait for tomorrow

To look back and wish for today.

Take the blue of the sky and the green of the forest,

The gold and the brown of the freshly-mown hay,

Add the pale shades of spring and the circus of autumn,

And weave you a lovely today.

For we have this moment to hold in our hands,

And to touch as it slips through our fingers like sand;

Yesterday's gone, and tomorrow may never come,

But we have this moment, today.

Lyrics by Gloria Gaither.

Music by William J. Gaither.

© 1975 William J. Gaither.