My Grandma
Yea, though my Grandma lives no more
And you may claim your Grandma best
Yet in my heart, I’ll still adore
The love that nestled in her breast.
To me none lit the morning fires,
Or sewed a thread and needle fine,
Or polished silver for her sires,
That were as good as that of mine.
No Grandma filled a feather bed,
Or picked the feathers from a bird
Since time on earth is gone and sped,
Or churned the cream or wheyed the curd,
Or sewed a button on with care,
Or made a pot or vessel shine
That could with Grandmas glories share,
Or hold a candle light to mine.
I’m sure that none were so discreet,
So gentle, good and kind and mild
And none could make such things to eat
To win the favor of a child.
No fairer hands, could cradle, sway
Or could the wool or distaff seize
Or could the fears of childhood, lay,
Or could more deftly shell more peas.
Someday perhaps I’ll press those hands,
And gaze upon those eyes that shine,
And by her stories hear of lands
Beyond the waving ocean brine.
Someday, I trust it shall be true,
I shall delight to know her face.
When God shall end deaths rendezvous
And we shall bask in heavens grace.
How sad that loved ones must depart,
And leave their children ere their birth.
Endearing loved ones, from the heart
So soon uprooted from the earth.
God still will triumph o’er this foe.
The blot of death God will erase.
His plan for us was not thus, so.
God’s plan, is life, for all His race.
H. E. Crane