MY MOTHER’S GRAVE
Among the mountains of the west
Mother thou wast lain to rest
There the venered oak spreads his branches
To the western wind and his (thy bed)
Long white mosses hang seemingly in sorrow.
Long years have passed since lowly thou was lain
Calmly to rest in the Savior’s name
Thou was a comfort whilst on earth
Not only unto thy children dear
But unto the afflicted fatherless
They always found a friend in thee
Pure and lasting as Helen’s snow
But unto thee bold Conorid came
To levy thereupon his prey
And set another prisoner free
Although we miss you greatly here…
We would not call you back again
To this cold world of bitter strife
To grapple with the things of life
Written by an affectionate daughter
March 2, 1861
