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

Good-night, good-night

Warm summer sun, shine kindly here;
Warm southern wind, blow softly here;
Green sod above, lie light, lie light-
Good-night, dear heart, good-night, good-night.

These lines were adapted from a poem by Robert Richardson . . . the original can be found in a little book published in 1893 . . . Willow and Wattle . . .


On this date in our extended collateral family history . . . the 19th day of March . . . in the year 1872 . . . Olivea Susan "Susy" Clemens was born in Elmira, New York . . . 



Susy was a daughter of Samuel Clemens . . . who wrote under the pen name Mark Twain . . . and this Susy is a 4th cousin once removed to Josephine Wingfield Henry nee Davis (1842-1899) . . . who is a 2nd great-grandma to the Keeper of this family history blog . . .


According to a letter written by Miss Daisy Warner, Susy Clemens enjoyed strawberries and ice cream and ladyfingers at her 15th birthday party on the 19th of March in 1887 . . . following Susy's death at the age of 24, her father had the words at the top of this page engraved on her tombstone . . .

Willow and Wattle

Warm summer sun, shine kindly here;
Warm southern wind, blow softly here;
Green sod above, lie light, lie light-
Good-night, dear heart, good-night, good-night.

These lines, often attributed to Mark Twain, were actually adapted from an original poem by Robert Richardson. The original was found in a little book published in 1893, Willow and Wattle.

The River Note

And I behold once more
My old familiar haunts; here the blue river,
The same blue wonder that my infant eye
Admired, sage doubting whence the traveller came,--
Whence brought his sunny bubbles ere he washed
The fragrant flag-roots in my father's fields,
And where thereafter in the world he went.
Look, here he is, unaltered, save that now
He hath broke his banks and flooded all the vales
With his redundant waves.
Here is the rock where, yet a simple child,
I caught with bended pin my earliest fish,
Much triumphing,--and these the fields
Over whose flowers I chased the butterfly,
A blooming hunter of a fairy fine.
And hark! where overhead the ancient crows
Hold their sour conversation in the sky:--
These are the same, but I am not the same,
But wiser than I was, and wise enough
Not to regret the changes, tho' they cost
Me many a sigh. Oh, call not Nature dumb;
These trees and stones are audible to me,
These idle flowers, that tremble in the wind,
I understand their faery syllables,
And all their sad significance. The wind,
That rustles down the well-known forest road--
It hath a sound more eloquent than speech.
The stream, the trees, the grass, the sighing wind,
All of them utter sounds of 'monishment
And grave parental love.
They are not of our race, they seem to say,
And yet have knowledge of our moral race,
And somewhat of majestic sympathy,
Something of pity for the puny clay,
That holds and boasts the immeasurable mind.
I feel as I were welcome to these trees
After long months of weary wandering,
Acknowledged by their hospitable boughs;
They know me as their son, for side by side,
They were coeval with my ancestors,
Adorned with them my country's primitive times,
And soon may give my dust their funeral shade.


Ralph Waldo Emerson
25 May 1803 - 27 April 1882

Do not stand at my grave and weep . . .

Gentle Autumn's Rain

Do not stand at my grave and weep
I am not there, I do not sleep
I am a thousand winds that blow
I am the diamond glint on snow
I am the sunlight on ripened grain
I am the gentle autumn rain

When you wake in the morning hush
I am the swift, uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circling flight
I am the soft starlight at night
I am the song that will never end
I am the love of family and friend

I am the child who has come to rest
In the arms of the Father  who knows him best
When you see the sunset fair
I am the scented evening air
I am the joy of a task well done
I am the glow of the setting sun

Do not stand at my grave and cry
I am not there, I did not die

Original verse by Mary Frye (1932)
Additional verse by Wilbur Skeels (1996)

A Gaelic Blessing

May the road rise to meet you.
May the wind be always at your back.
May the sun shine warm upon your face;
The rains fall soft upon your fields
And, until we meet again,
May God hold you in the palm of His hand.

A Gaelic Blessing --
from Taylor's Memorial Service