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Adelia M. Hoyt memoir and photographs
Page 56
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56 UNFOLDING YEARS always do on such occasions. Our oldest sister and her husband arrived that evening and Sister Mary came the next morning. On New Year's day, 1907, we laid her away in beautiful Woodland Cemetery. That was the first break in our family circle -- and when it was all over I found myself prostrated with grief. It had been a long strain of care, anxiety and hard work. It seemed as if with the death of my mother another chapter in my life had closed --- although it was some time before I really took up the threads and went on to the next phase of my existence. For several years mother and I had played a little game in the spring to see which one of us would hear the first robin. To express my feelings I wrote the following verses: WITHOUT THEE, DEAR There's something in the sentient air, A whispering through the leafless trees, A thousand tokens everywhere. What messengers are these? They are the heralds of the spring, They cry: "Rejoice, for spring is here!" But in the heart there is no spring Without thee, dear. The robin sings at early morn, Just as he sang one year ago, And when the twilight shadows fall He warbles sweet and low. The blue birds and the meadow larks I know sing just as sweet and clear -- But something from their songs I miss Without thee, dear. The sunlight seems not half so bright, The flowers are not so sweet or fair, The earth has lost its radiant light -- I miss thee everywhere! And now I know 'tis love that casts A halo round each object here, And life can never be the same Without thee, dear.
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56 UNFOLDING YEARS always do on such occasions. Our oldest sister and her husband arrived that evening and Sister Mary came the next morning. On New Year's day, 1907, we laid her away in beautiful Woodland Cemetery. That was the first break in our family circle -- and when it was all over I found myself prostrated with grief. It had been a long strain of care, anxiety and hard work. It seemed as if with the death of my mother another chapter in my life had closed --- although it was some time before I really took up the threads and went on to the next phase of my existence. For several years mother and I had played a little game in the spring to see which one of us would hear the first robin. To express my feelings I wrote the following verses: WITHOUT THEE, DEAR There's something in the sentient air, A whispering through the leafless trees, A thousand tokens everywhere. What messengers are these? They are the heralds of the spring, They cry: "Rejoice, for spring is here!" But in the heart there is no spring Without thee, dear. The robin sings at early morn, Just as he sang one year ago, And when the twilight shadows fall He warbles sweet and low. The blue birds and the meadow larks I know sing just as sweet and clear -- But something from their songs I miss Without thee, dear. The sunlight seems not half so bright, The flowers are not so sweet or fair, The earth has lost its radiant light -- I miss thee everywhere! And now I know 'tis love that casts A halo round each object here, And life can never be the same Without thee, dear.
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