Isabella’s husband, the Rev. G. R. Alden, was a prolific poet, and many of his works were published in The Pansy magazine. He was adept at sharing humorous stories, childhood memories, and Biblical truths through rhyme. In the following poem he writes about anticipating the change of seasons in a long-ago, and much simpler time.

The fields and meadows paling 
Lie ’neath the hazy sky;
The thistle-down is sailing
By zepyrs slowly by.
The stalks of stubble, bleaching
Beneath September’s sun,
Seem silently now teaching
Of rest when labor’s done.

The goldenrod, bright gleaming 
Above the parched sod, 
Is surely sent, the seeming 
Of the golden things of God. 
The katy-dids are calling, 
In a social sort of way,  
To learn what is befalling 
The neighbor ’cross the way.

Communist like, the blackbirds 
Hold meetings every night, 
As though the world went backwards, 
And they must set it right. 
The apples fast are falling 
From heavy-laden boughs; 
The milkmaid’s faintly calling 
’Cross the meadows for the cows.

The milking-stool is ready
Astride the barnyard gate;
The cows come slow and steady,
Like messengers of Fate.
And soon, in silence sleeping,
Master and maid and herd
Beneath God’s kindly keeping
Will rest—as on his word.

So may this mild September,
With its pictures passing fair,
Make each of us remember
God’s mercies, rich and rare.