Here I laid my darling
and only daughter to rest
on February 16th 1886.
27 years old.
Brady Hill
Quiet airy hillsides
Where the lilies grow,
Deep and shady valleys
Where the violets blow.
Under stately tall trees,
On the high hill’s crest,
Under soft green carpets,
Here our darlings rest.
Where the fitful breezes
Gently flow along,
Where the woodland music
Echoes wild bird’s song.
Soft winds sing requiem,
Waving o’er the grass,
Nature’s life around us,
Greets us as we pass.
Birds sing in the tree-tops,
Under leaves the nest;
Flowers bloom in profusion
On the green earth’s breast.
Sweet peace reigns ineffable
Over lake and wood,
No idle thoughts here enter–
All is pure and good.
No disturbing influence
Of passion, war, or strife,
No aggressive battles–
That crowd the path of life.
But of the great hereafter,
Of future promised bliss–
That beyond us somewhere
Is a fairer world than this.
In the mystic east-land,
Where the Savior trod,
Blest by sacred presence–
Is it nearer God?
Than this precious west-land–
Where we kneel and pray,
And offer our thanksgiving
For His love to-day?
Then we can wait securely,
And make our lives serene;
Can trust our Maker surely–
The way, two worlds between.
When by and by He calls us,
In some sweet spot to rest,
Our tired hearts will answer –
Surely,
this is best.
THE SAGINAW COURIER
MAY 22, 1889.