The Family
The family is like a book...
The children are the leaves;
The parents are the cover, that
Protective beauty gives.
At first the pages of the book
Are blank and purely fair;
But time soon writes memories,
And paints pictures there.
Love is the little golden clasp
That bindeth up the trust;
Oh, break it not lest all the leaves
Shall scatter and be lost!
Author Unknown
Mother's Beautiful Hands
Such beautiful, beautiful hands!
These patient hands kept toiling on
That children might be glad.
I almost weep when looking back
To childhood's distant day!
I think of how those hands rested not
When mine were at their play.
Our home joys are the most delightful earth affords,
And the joy of parents in their
children
Is the most holy joy of humanity.
It makes their hearts pure and good,
It lifts men up to their Father in heaven.
When Grandpa Looks At Grandma
When Grandpa looks at Grandma
Somehow he doesn't see
Her aged serenity.
He doesn't see her falter
When night its darkness brings...
That she is slow he'll never know,
Or any of those things.
When Grandpa looks at Grandma
Somehow he doesn't hear
The broken tones that now she owns,
Her voice seems firm and clear,
Her eyes that smile upon him
Are faded blue and dim,
Though time has changed, they have not,
They look the same to him.
When Grandpa looks at Grandma,
Forgetting she is old,
He sees his bride cling to his side
With hair of shining gold.
He sees her in her splendor
Of love that grown and grows...
If she is gray and bent today,
Grandfather never knew.
Anne Campbell
Ancestral Tapestry
Upon the wall of time it hangs, a panorama of the past,
Threadbare and worn, but vivid still, its colors yet are cast.
Portraying those who went before, but left to me a part
Of blood and gene and courage...they beat within my heart!
Pioneer with trudging step, you move across the warp,
Patience in your weary feet, your eye still keen and sharp.
Your shouldered rifle, headed west, with trust in God for keep,
Leaving home and family ties...dry tears you never weep.
A soldier there...in blue or grey, it matters little now,
You fought because the call came loud, no choice of when or how.
My lady in her billowing skirts, lily-white of hand and face,
You grace the home with charms so fair, in muslin and in lace.
The days, the years, they pass before as I gaze upon the welt,
I try to reach you with my thoughts, to feel as you have felt.
Woven around an abscure warp, of stronger, common thread,
A picture of family past now lives - no longer is it dead!
A hundred years! They are not dim, I see the faces clear!
Great-grandparents, uncles, aunts...unknown, but oh so dear!
Dates and names mean little still, but each one ties a knot
That makes my tapestry complete...except for one blank spot!
There must be room left at the edge, for one day I will be
A part of someone's old and faded...Ancestral Tapestry.
Mildred Whitson
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Featured Music:  "Evening In The Garden"
Composed and sequenced by Geoff~
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