Okay, all you young mothers out there. Here is some poetry my sister dug up while doing some family history research. She has found that we are descended from a wealthy guy with a castle in Holland (which is still in use today) from around the 16th century. We are sprung from his illegitimate family (some things never change) who he allowed to settle on land below his castle...our family name means "flatlanders".
Anyway, one of my long lost relatives from about a hundred years ago or so, named Fannebelle, must have lost a child at some time because she apparently wrote these three beautiful poems while grieving. Sis did a quick Google search and couldn't find them anywhere so we're pretty sure she wrote them. They really make you thankful that we are alive today and not back in the day when medicine left so much to be desired. We really do have it good. Now, get ready to cry.
My Sick Baby --
This one, Dear God, of all you gave
Allow me still to keep;
The fevered hand I clutch, grows weaker,
For his pain has been too much.
If you will spare him, henceforth will I vow
To pledge my services as your own
-But now, It must be his,
I am the only crutch he has, to serve his needs.
And he is such a little thing!
Oh, hearken me some how.
The other children are so gay and strong
Can he not have his chance to be the same?
His innocence has done no breath of wrong.
Nor has he learned to play a single game.
Lord, who can hear the slightest sparrows song,
Have pity on my baby, In your name.
Gone Away To Heaven
Just thinking, in a quiet house.
No tiny feet upon the stair
No sudden rush along the hall
No call of "Mama, are you there.
Just thinking. Not a thing to do.
No baby voice is heard today
No dirty little hands to wash
No broken toys to put away.
Just thinking. Everything in place
The little white crib is empty quite
And angel came and took
Our Billy away last night
Just thinking. It is twilight time
I hear the clock upon the stairs
Chime slowly till I've counted eight
Wonder - Did God hear my prayers?
My Baby's First Day In Heaven
Dear God, this is the first strange day for him
Among your shining cherubims
So please, Lord seek him out, and smile
And hold him on your knee awhile,
he is so small and maybe shy
Of stately angels in the sky
And when the little haloed boys and girls
play games with shrill bright noise
Oh, please make sure that they invite
My little Bill to play.