So few people have learned the art of collecting memories.
They collect
old china and prints and books...all good
and pleasant, but fragile
and perishable. Happy memories are
indestructable possessions which
nothing can take us from.
Precious mem'ries, how they linger
How they ever flood my soul
In the stillness of the midnight
Precious, sacred scenes unfold.
Precious mem'ries, unseen angels
Sent from somewhere to my soul
How they linger, ever near me
And the sacred past unfold.
Precious mem'ries, how they linger
How they ever flood my soul
In the stillness of the midnight
Precious, sacred scenes unfold.
Precious father, loving mother
Fly across the lonely years
And old home scenes of my childhood
In fond memory appear.
In the stillness of the midnight
Echoes from the past I hear
Old-time singing, gladness bringing
From that lovely land somewhere.
I remember mother praying
Father, too, on bended knee
Sun is sinking, shadows falling
But their pray'rs still follow me.
As I travel on life's pathway
Know not what the years may hold
As I ponder, hope grows fonder
Precious mem'ries flood my soul.
J.B.F. Wright
The Old Covered Bridge
Old covered bridge of childhood,
Covered with dreams for me.
The road back to you is a long road,
But that's where I long to be,
Joyful, carefree and happy,
Dreaming the hours away...
Old covered bridge of childhood
Back in that yesterday.
I'd love just to see once again
Back near the old hometown,
This old bridge that still is there,
The road a-winding down...
And live again those happy hours
With friends of long ago,
Back near that old hometown of mine,
Back home with the folks I know.
D. M. Roads
The Old-Time Trolley Car
George B. Adams
Our Legacy
Pressed between the leaves of an ancient book
In a bookcase far upstairs,
Is a rose she placed there long ago,
As a maiden, young and fair.
The book intrigued her not at all;
It served as a hiding place
For a blossom tenderly arranged in her hair
By a boy with a smiling face.
Now years have passed and she seeks the book
For the wisdom of its pages;
Wisdom from those departed...
A legacy for the ages.
The rose is crumpled and tissue thin,
Beyond recall the boy's face;
But the written message remains the same,
Grown profound in life's great race.
And so it is with words and deeds...
Though the writers and doers depart,
The thoughts they pen and their acts performed
Live on in the human heart.
Doris Larson
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