Tag: Poem

Margaret’s Lullaby

Published on by Isabella Alden1 Comment

Like her aunt Isabella, Grace Livingston Hill expressed her creative talents in many ways.  Although she was best known for writing Christian novels and short stories (click here to read a few), she also wrote poetry.

After her first child Margaret was born in 1893, Grace wrote this charming poem to her darling little daughter:

Image of mother sitting up in bed, her back against pillows, looking down at the baby she holds on a pillow in her lap. 
The birdies have tucked their heads under their wings,
And cuddled down closely, the dear little things;
And my darling birdie is here in her nest,
With her heart nestled close on her own mother’s breast.
The wind sings a sleepy song soft to the roses,
And kisses the buds on the tips of their noses.
Shall I sing a sleepy song soft to my sweet,
And kiss the pink toes of her precious wee feet?
The butterflies fold their silver-gauze wings,
And now sweetly sleep with all the fluttering things;
Will you fold your wee palms, my dear little girl,
And rest the tired footies, my dainty rare pearl?
The violet sweet has closed its blue eye,
That has gazed all day long at the clear summer sky:
Now droop the dark fringes over your eyes;
They are weary with holding great looks of surprise.
The flower-bells have drooped their meek little heads, 
And laid themselves down in their soft, mossy beds.
Your golden head droops and your eyes are shut quite;
Shall I lay you down soft on your pillow so white?

Grace’s lovely poem was published in newspapers across the country . What do you think of “Margaret’s Lullaby”?

September

Published on by Isabella AldenLeave a comment

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.
Image of two yellow birds sitting in a bush of white and pink thistles. One bird plucks the tuft from one of the white thistles.
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.
Image of a large apple tree with branches full of apples bent down to the ground.
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.
Image of some cows grazing in a flowering field while other cows stand in the shallow waters of a lake or pond. 
So may this mild September,
With its pictures passing fair,
Make each of us remember
God’s mercies, rich and rare.

Two of Us

Published on by Isabella Alden2 Comments

Isabella’s husband the Reverend G. R. Alden regularly wrote poems, which were published in The Pansy magazine. In June 1891 he celebrated the closeness of siblings with this delightful poem:

"Twice one is two." 
That's a text for you. 
Whether at work or play,
Whether by night or day,
Whether in school or store, 
On table, or shelf or floor, 
This is the thing we do — 
We prove the rule is true.
One cannot truly love alone, 
No more than could a granite stone; 
Better eat dinner without bread, 
Or think sweet thoughts, without a head.
The heart all empty is, you see, 
And one must enter there and be 
The tenant, and fill up the hollow, 
Just like the dinner you would swallow.
Quarrel alone! That would be funny! 
Sooner have bees, but never honey! 
Better a cart with but one wheel, 
Better a flint, with never a steel.
With half a shears, if you were clever, 
You might do work; but you could never 
Quarrel alone, in all your life; 
Someone must help you in the strife.
S'pose that is why God made us two, 
That we might love each other true; 
Not hate and quarrel, scratch and fight, 
So drive away his love and light; 
But helping each, in work or play, 
We'll hurry on the heavenly way, 
And by and by together stand, 
Before his throne, each hand in hand.

G. R. Alden

The Month of May

Published on by Isabella Alden2 Comments

Isabella’s son Raymond was twenty years old when he wrote this charming poem about the month of May.

Why are bees and butterflies
    Dancing in the sun?
Violets and buttercups
    Blooming, every one?
Why does Mr. Bobolink 
    Seem so shocking gay?
Why does—Ah! I'd half-forgot!
    This is really May.
Why are all the water-bugs
    Donning roller skates?
And the solemn lady-bugs
    Dozing on the gates?
Why do all the meadow brooks
    Try to run away,
As though someone were chasing them?
    Bless me! This is May.
Please to tell me why the trees
    Have put new bonnets on?
Please to tell me why the crows
    Their picnics have begun?
Why does all the whole big world
    Smell like a fresh bouquet
Picked from one of God's flower beds?
    Oh, I know! It's May.

Raymond M. Alden

The Evening Star

Published on by Isabella Alden1 Comment

Isabella loved her niece Grace Livingston, and she was very proud of Grace’s talent for writing.

When Grace was only twelve years old she wrote her first book, The Esselstynes. It was a story about the life changes a brother and sister experience when they are adopted by a Christian couple. Isabella was so impressed by the story, she had it printed and bound as a book, and she encouraged Grace to write more.

Grace obliged and wrote poems, as well as stories. She wrote the poem below, which Isabella published in an issue The Pansy magazine in April 1881—just in time for Grace’s 16th birthday!

Here’s how the poem appeared in the magazine:

An old black and white woodcut illustration of a tall mountain peak above which a bright star shines in the darkened sky. Below the illustration is the text of the poem.

.

And here’s a transcript of the poem:

THE EVENING STAR

BY GRACE

You beautiful star,
Shining afar,
Above the depths of sin,
Unbar the door
Of the heavenly floor,
And give me one glimpse in.
Into the bright
And golden light,
In the presence of the King,
Where the angels play
Night and day,
And the choirs forever sing.
The streets of gold, 
The glories untold, 
Oh, how I long to see! 
Star, if you could, 
Bright star! if you would  
Show those glories to me!

What do you think of Grace’s poem?

When you were young, did you have a relative, teacher or friend in your life who encouraged you to develop a talent?

A Little Word Lost

Published on by Isabella Alden1 Comment

In The Pansy magazine Isabella used stories, illustrations, and poems to teach young people what it meant to follow Jesus. The following poem was published in an 1893 issue of the magazine, and although it was written for children, it has meaning for adults, too!

I lost a very little word
    Only the other day;
A very naughty little word
    I had not meant to say.
If only it were really lost,
    I should not mind a bit;
I think I should deserve a prize
    For really losing it.
For if no one could ever find
    Again that little word,
So that no more from any lips
    Could it be ever heard,
I'm sure we all of us would say
    That it was something fine
With such completeness to have lost
    That naughty word of mine.
But then it wasn't really lost
    When from my lips it flew;
My little brother picked it up,
    And now he says it, too.
Mamma said that the worst would be
    I could not get it back;
But the worst of it now seems to me,
    I'm always on its track.
If it were only really lost!
    Oh, then I should be glad!
I let it fall so carelessly
    The day that I got mad.
Lose other things, you never seem
    To come upon their track;
But lose a naughty little word,
    It's always coming back.

While no author name was given when the poem was published, Isabella’s husband Ross and son Raymond were both talented poets, as was Isabella.

When she wrote stories about children losing their tempers, she wrote from experience. Isabella shared stories from her own life about how often her anger got her into trouble when she was young.

You can read about some of those instances in these previous posts:

Joy Go with You

BFFs at Oneida Seminary

Locust Shade … and a New Free Read

Love’s Garden

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Isabella was an avid reader, and often read aloud to her family. She enjoyed biographies, histories, and fiction; but she particularly enjoyed reading poetry. In fact, her husband Ross and her son Raymond were both published poets.

Isabella often shared poems she enjoyed with readers of The Pansy magazine. In an 1893 issue she printed this lovely poem:

Love’s Garden There is a quiet garden From the rude world set apart, Where seeds for Christ are growing; This is the loving heart. The tiny roots are loving thoughts, Sweet words, the fragrant flowers Which blossom into loving deeds— Ripe fruit for harvest hours. Thus in our hearts the seeds of love Are growing, year by year; And we show our love for the Saviour, By loving his children here. Author Unknown

What is Love?

Published on by Isabella Alden4 Comments

Isabella Alden’s son Raymond was fifteen years old when he wrote this sweet poem. It was published in The Pansy magazine in 1888.

(Written in answer to a child who asked what love was.)

Love is—well, what can anyone say?
Love is—Why, darling, think all day
Of all the words that we can say;
And think, and think, and tell me
What love is. Ah! I knew you could not.

Well, love is Jesus; and He is love.
Love is a message, so sweet, from above.
God is love, so the good Book says,
And true love is great and high, always.

What is the best definition given?
Love is a message, a breath from Heaven.
God’s message to lost ones—our Light, our Life.
Love makes all peace where once was strife.
Oh! Let me show you what love can do.

For God so loved the world that he gave
His only begotten Son to save—
Whom do you think? Why, sinners, whom
Justice for justice’s sake would doom!

But then, you look very wise, and say,
Why, God is love, you know, anyway!
Aye, my darling, that is true.
Now let me ask you—What cannot love do?

Welcome, April!

Published on by Isabella AldenLeave a comment

Isabella was surrounded by writers. Her sister, niece, son, and friends all wrote stories, articles and lessons for publication.

Her husband, the Reverend Gustavus Rossenberg Alden—“Ross” for short—was no exception. In addition to writing his Sunday sermons, he wrote many short stories for The Pansy magazine, authored a memoir of stories about his boyhood while growing up in Maine, and (with his brother-in-law Charles Livingston) wrote a series of weekly Bible study lessons.

Ross was also an accomplished poet. He created lovely rhymes about a wide variety of subjects.

Here’s Ross’s poem “April” to help us welcome a new month:

APRIL

O Spring is coming now, don’t you see?
The birds will be followed by the humble bee.

The frogs are singing their evening song,
The lambs are skipping with their dams along,

The buds are out on the pussy-willow tree,
On the bough of the birch sings the chickadee.

The cows come lowing along the lane,
With suppers all ready for us again.

Old Speckle scratches for her chickens ten,
New piggies are squealing in their pen,
From the top of the tree the robin calls,
From the top of the dam the water falls,
And everything to the eye or ear,
Tells to old and young that April is here.