DIY History | Transcribe | Campus Culture | Adelia M. Hoyt memoir and photographs

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Page 110

110 UNFOLDING YEARS

and others, were with me much of the time and anxious to do all they could to be of use to me. But it was, of course, up to me to decide and arrange everything, and with God's help I was able to go through the next three days so that I had nothing to regret later. 
On Monday afternoon, June 5th, there was a simple service at the Funeral Home on East Capitol Street. The room was full of kind, sympathetic friends and many beautiful flowers. Doctor John Crompton Ball, who had been our Pastor for more than thirty years, gave a wonderfully comforting talk. He and other friends accompanied us to Cedar Hill Cemetery where we laid her to rest in a beautiful spot which we had chosen about three years before. Then I came back to take up life without the one who had so long been my source of strength. 
A few years previous I had written some verses and gave them to my sister expressing my appreciation for what she had done for me. Perhaps this is a good place to insert them as a tribute to her memory. 

MY SISTER

If I had the tongue of a poet 
I would sing of a sister's love, 
Unselfish, sustaining, enfolding --
Like the sunshine that falls from above. 

If I had the skill of an artist, 
I would picture that dear sister's face, 
And show you her beautiful spirit
In all of its beauty and grace. 

The hands that have toiled for my comfort, 
The eyes that have seen for us two, 
The voice that bids me take courage, 
The heart that is beating so true. 

But I'm only a stammering rhymester
Whose verses will falter and fall --
And my pictures are only in fancy, 
Their colors to others are pale. 

But some day the angels in Heaven 
Will sing to that sister of mine
A song that shall tell of her goodness
And of love that is kin to divine !

Saving...

110 UNFOLDING YEARS and others, were with me much of the time and anxious to do all they could to be of use to me. But it was, of course, up to me to decide and arrange everything, and with God's help I was able to go through the next three days so that I had nothing to regret later. On Monday afternoon, June 5th, there was a simple service at the Funeral Home on East Capitol Street. The room was full of kind, sympathetic friends and many beautiful flowers. Doctor John Crompton Ball, who had been our Pastor for more than thirty years, gave a wonderfully comforting talk. He and other friends accompanied us to Cedar Hill Cemetery where we laid her to rest in a beautiful spot which we had chosen about three years before. Then I came back to take up life without the one who had so long been my source of strength. A few years previous I had written some verses and gave them to my sister expressing my appreciation for what she had done for me. Perhaps this is a good place to insert them as a tribute to her memory. MY SISTER If I had the tongue of a poet I would sing of a sister's love, Unselfish, sustaining, enfolding -- Like the sunshine that falls from above. If I had the skill of an artist, I would picture that dear sister's face, And show you her beautiful spirit In all of its beauty and grace. The hands that have toiled for my comfort, The eyes that have seen for us two, The voice that bids me take courage, The heart that is beating so true. But I'm only a stammering rhymester Whose verses will falter and fall -- And my pictures are only in fancy, Their colors to others are pale. But some day the angels in Heaven Will sing to that sister of mine A song that shall tell of her goodness And of love that is kin to divine !