- Published on
A Teardrop in My Eye
I just found a memory
In the corner of my mind,
Of happy times gone past
When you were by my side.
I just saw a picture
It flashed before my eyes,
Of dreams we had together
And futures we once had.
I just wiped a teardrop
Which was nestled in my eye,
Followed by another
As I began to cry,
I just gazed to heaven
That heaven up so high,
I see a light that shines for me;
My Angel in the sky.
by Ian Robertson
I just found a memory
In the corner of my mind,
Of happy times gone past
When you were by my side.
I just saw a picture
It flashed before my eyes,
Of dreams we had together
And futures we once had.
I just wiped a teardrop
Which was nestled in my eye,
Followed by another
As I began to cry,
I just gazed to heaven
That heaven up so high,
I see a light that shines for me;
My Angel in the sky.
by Ian Robertson
- Published on
In Flanders Fields
In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.
We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.
Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.
by John McCrae (3 May 1915, Second Battle of Ypres)
Flanders Fields was a battle region in the First World War, which lasted from 1914 to 1918. Roughly a million soldiers from more than fifty different nations were wounded, went missing, or were killed in action in Flanders Fields. The region now makes up the northern part of the country of Belgium, and still bears witness to history in its many monuments, museums, and cemeteries, and in the innumerable stories of individual lives that were dramatically changed.
John McCrae was born on 30 November 1872 in Guelph, Ontario, Canada. He became a writer, a poet, a physician, and a Lieutenant Colonel in the Canadian Expeditionary Force during the First World War. John McCrae passed on at 45 years of age on 28 January 1918 in Boulogne-sur-Mer, France.
In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.
We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.
Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.
by John McCrae (3 May 1915, Second Battle of Ypres)
Flanders Fields was a battle region in the First World War, which lasted from 1914 to 1918. Roughly a million soldiers from more than fifty different nations were wounded, went missing, or were killed in action in Flanders Fields. The region now makes up the northern part of the country of Belgium, and still bears witness to history in its many monuments, museums, and cemeteries, and in the innumerable stories of individual lives that were dramatically changed.
John McCrae was born on 30 November 1872 in Guelph, Ontario, Canada. He became a writer, a poet, a physician, and a Lieutenant Colonel in the Canadian Expeditionary Force during the First World War. John McCrae passed on at 45 years of age on 28 January 1918 in Boulogne-sur-Mer, France.
Poppies are plants with large bright-red flowers, and were among the first plants to regrow after the ground was torn apart by war and then disturbed again by the making of the final resting places of the war casualties.
- Published on
The Day God Took You Home
You never said I’m leaving.
You never said goodbye.
You were gone before I knew it,
And only God knew why.
A million times I needed you,
A million times I cried.
If Love alone could have saved you,
You never would have died.
In Life I loved you dearly,
In death I love you still.
In my heart you hold a place,
That no one could ever fill.
It broke my heart to lose you,
But you didn’t go alone.
For part of me went with you,
The day God took you home.
by Author Unknown
You never said I’m leaving.
You never said goodbye.
You were gone before I knew it,
And only God knew why.
A million times I needed you,
A million times I cried.
If Love alone could have saved you,
You never would have died.
In Life I loved you dearly,
In death I love you still.
In my heart you hold a place,
That no one could ever fill.
It broke my heart to lose you,
But you didn’t go alone.
For part of me went with you,
The day God took you home.
by Author Unknown
- Published on
Feelings
No more your face to look upon
Or beautiful smile to see
Though deep inside my heart I know
You still reside with me.
When the sun casts down its golden rays
That’s when I see your smile
Then rain drops fall just like my tears
And my heart aches for a while.
A rainbow in the sky appears
With a beauty of its own
And on the breeze I hear your voice
It whispers, “You’re not alone.”
by Sandra Woolridge
No more your face to look upon
Or beautiful smile to see
Though deep inside my heart I know
You still reside with me.
When the sun casts down its golden rays
That’s when I see your smile
Then rain drops fall just like my tears
And my heart aches for a while.
A rainbow in the sky appears
With a beauty of its own
And on the breeze I hear your voice
It whispers, “You’re not alone.”
by Sandra Woolridge
- Published on
There Comes a Time
There comes a time for all of us
When we must say good-bye,
But faith and hope and love and trust
Can never, never die.
Although the curtain falls at last
Is that a cause to grieve?
The future’s fairer than the past
If only we believe.
Trust in God’s eternal care -
So when the Master calls
Let’s say that life is still more fair
Although the curtain falls.
by Author Unknown
There comes a time for all of us
When we must say good-bye,
But faith and hope and love and trust
Can never, never die.
Although the curtain falls at last
Is that a cause to grieve?
The future’s fairer than the past
If only we believe.
Trust in God’s eternal care -
So when the Master calls
Let’s say that life is still more fair
Although the curtain falls.
by Author Unknown
- Published on
- Published on
I Am Not There
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 glints on snow,
I am the sun on ripened grain,
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you awaken in the morning’s hush,
I am the swift uplifting rush,
Of quiet birds in circled flight.
I am the soft stars that shine at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry,
I am not there; I did not die.
by Mary Elizabeth Frye (1932)
Mary Elizabeth Frye was born on 13 November 1905 in Dayton, Ohio, United States of America. She was orphaned at 3 years of age. She became a flower grower, a florist, and a poet. Mary Elizabeth Frye passed on at 98 years of age on 15 September 2004 in Baltimore, Maryland, United States of America.
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 glints on snow,
I am the sun on ripened grain,
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you awaken in the morning’s hush,
I am the swift uplifting rush,
Of quiet birds in circled flight.
I am the soft stars that shine at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry,
I am not there; I did not die.
by Mary Elizabeth Frye (1932)
Mary Elizabeth Frye was born on 13 November 1905 in Dayton, Ohio, United States of America. She was orphaned at 3 years of age. She became a flower grower, a florist, and a poet. Mary Elizabeth Frye passed on at 98 years of age on 15 September 2004 in Baltimore, Maryland, United States of America.
- Published on
Should You Go First
Should you go first and I remain
To walk the road alone,
I’ll live in memory’s garden, dear,
With happy days we’ve known.
In Spring I’ll watch for roses red
When fades the lilac blue,
In early Fall when brown leaves call
I’ll catch a glimpse of you.
Should you go first and I remain
For battles to be fought,
Each thing you’ve touched along the way
Will be a hallowed spot.
I’ll hear your voice, I’ll see your smile,
Though blindly I may grope,
The memory of your helping hand
Will buoy me on with hope.
Should you go first and I remain
To finish with the scroll
No length’ning shadows shall creep in
To make this life seem droll.
We’ve known so much of happiness,
We’ve had our cup of joy
And memory is one gift of God
That death cannot destroy.
Should you go first and I remain
One thing I’d have you do;
Walk slowly down that long, lone path,
For soon I’ll follow you.
I’ll want to know each step you take
That I may walk the same.
For someday, down that lonely road,
You’ll hear me call your name.
by Albert Rowswell
Albert Kennedy ‘Rosey’ Rowswell was born on 1 February 1884 in Alton, Illinois, United States of America. He was a sports radio broadcaster and a poet. He wrote the poem “Should You Go First” for his wife. Albert Kennedy ‘Rosey’ Rowswell passed on at 71 years of age on 6 February 1955 in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, United States of America.
Should you go first and I remain
To walk the road alone,
I’ll live in memory’s garden, dear,
With happy days we’ve known.
In Spring I’ll watch for roses red
When fades the lilac blue,
In early Fall when brown leaves call
I’ll catch a glimpse of you.
Should you go first and I remain
For battles to be fought,
Each thing you’ve touched along the way
Will be a hallowed spot.
I’ll hear your voice, I’ll see your smile,
Though blindly I may grope,
The memory of your helping hand
Will buoy me on with hope.
Should you go first and I remain
To finish with the scroll
No length’ning shadows shall creep in
To make this life seem droll.
We’ve known so much of happiness,
We’ve had our cup of joy
And memory is one gift of God
That death cannot destroy.
Should you go first and I remain
One thing I’d have you do;
Walk slowly down that long, lone path,
For soon I’ll follow you.
I’ll want to know each step you take
That I may walk the same.
For someday, down that lonely road,
You’ll hear me call your name.
by Albert Rowswell
Albert Kennedy ‘Rosey’ Rowswell was born on 1 February 1884 in Alton, Illinois, United States of America. He was a sports radio broadcaster and a poet. He wrote the poem “Should You Go First” for his wife. Albert Kennedy ‘Rosey’ Rowswell passed on at 71 years of age on 6 February 1955 in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, United States of America.
- Published on
Mind the Light
It’s a beautiful short story, but if you read it, you might cry . . .
In New York Harbor between Manhattan and Staten Island, there is a sunken shoal called Robbins Reef. There’s not much there, but there is a small lighthouse, that for many years was tended by an elderly widow - Kate Walker. Born Katherine Gortler in Germany, she came to America with her young son after her first husband died young. Settling in Sandy Hook, New Jersey, she met a young man named John Walker, the assistant keeper of the Sandy Hook Lighthouse. They fell in love, married, and spent the early years of their marriage - including the birth of their daughter - happily tending the lighthouse in Sandy Hook.
On December 30, 1883, John was transferred to the Robbins Reef Lighthouse. From the moment they arrived, Kate was unhappy. “I can’t stay here,” she said. “The sight of water wherever I look makes me too lonesome. I won’t unpack!” But somehow, she says, the trunks and the boxes got unpacked, and they began to make a life on the tiny strip of land.
Four years later, John caught a cold while tending the light; it being the 1880’s, his cold turned to pneumonia, and he was brought to the hospital on Staten Island. As he was ferried away, he turned to Kate and said: Mind the light. He died just days later. She followed her last order and took over as light keeper.
John was buried on a hillside on Staten Island. Kate told the story to a reporter, sharing that: “Every morning, when the sun comes up, I stand at a porthole and look across the water toward his grave. Sometimes the hill is green, sometimes it is brown, sometimes it is white with snow. But it always brings a message from him - something I heard him say more often than anything else. Just three words: Mind the light.”
by Author Unknown: as published in Sidney Greenberg, editor: “A Treasury of Comfort” (1954), page 223 and 224
It’s a beautiful short story, but if you read it, you might cry . . .
In New York Harbor between Manhattan and Staten Island, there is a sunken shoal called Robbins Reef. There’s not much there, but there is a small lighthouse, that for many years was tended by an elderly widow - Kate Walker. Born Katherine Gortler in Germany, she came to America with her young son after her first husband died young. Settling in Sandy Hook, New Jersey, she met a young man named John Walker, the assistant keeper of the Sandy Hook Lighthouse. They fell in love, married, and spent the early years of their marriage - including the birth of their daughter - happily tending the lighthouse in Sandy Hook.
On December 30, 1883, John was transferred to the Robbins Reef Lighthouse. From the moment they arrived, Kate was unhappy. “I can’t stay here,” she said. “The sight of water wherever I look makes me too lonesome. I won’t unpack!” But somehow, she says, the trunks and the boxes got unpacked, and they began to make a life on the tiny strip of land.
Four years later, John caught a cold while tending the light; it being the 1880’s, his cold turned to pneumonia, and he was brought to the hospital on Staten Island. As he was ferried away, he turned to Kate and said: Mind the light. He died just days later. She followed her last order and took over as light keeper.
John was buried on a hillside on Staten Island. Kate told the story to a reporter, sharing that: “Every morning, when the sun comes up, I stand at a porthole and look across the water toward his grave. Sometimes the hill is green, sometimes it is brown, sometimes it is white with snow. But it always brings a message from him - something I heard him say more often than anything else. Just three words: Mind the light.”
by Author Unknown: as published in Sidney Greenberg, editor: “A Treasury of Comfort” (1954), page 223 and 224
- Published on
Baby Angel Alice
Don’t let them say I never lived,
Though something stopped my heart,
I felt the tenderness you gave,
I loved you from the start.
Although my body you can’t hold,
It doesn’t mean I’m gone,
This world was worthy, not, of me,
God chose that I move on.
I know the pain that drowns your soul,
What you are forced to face,
You have my word, I’ll fill your arms,
Someday we will embrace.
You’ll hear that it was ‘meant to be’
God doesn’t make ‘mistakes,’
But that won’t soften your worst blow,
Or make your heart not ache.
I’m watching over all you do,
Another child you’ll bear,
Believe me when I say to you,
That I am always there.
There’ll come a time, I promise you,
When you will hold my hand,
Stroke my face and kiss my lips,
And then you’ll understand.
Although I never breathed your air,
Or gazed into your eyes,
That doesn’t mean I never ‘was’
An angel never dies . . .
by Karen O’Connor
Don’t let them say I never lived,
Though something stopped my heart,
I felt the tenderness you gave,
I loved you from the start.
Although my body you can’t hold,
It doesn’t mean I’m gone,
This world was worthy, not, of me,
God chose that I move on.
I know the pain that drowns your soul,
What you are forced to face,
You have my word, I’ll fill your arms,
Someday we will embrace.
You’ll hear that it was ‘meant to be’
God doesn’t make ‘mistakes,’
But that won’t soften your worst blow,
Or make your heart not ache.
I’m watching over all you do,
Another child you’ll bear,
Believe me when I say to you,
That I am always there.
There’ll come a time, I promise you,
When you will hold my hand,
Stroke my face and kiss my lips,
And then you’ll understand.
Although I never breathed your air,
Or gazed into your eyes,
That doesn’t mean I never ‘was’
An angel never dies . . .
by Karen O’Connor
