FAMILY HISTORY: POETRY Collection written by Elsie Strawn ARMSTRONG
  
  File contributed for use in USGenWeb Archives by: Les Howard Strawn
  
  Copyright 2006.  All rights reserved.
  http://www.usgwarchives.net/copyright.htm
  http://www.usgwarchives.net/pa/somerset/
  ________________________________________________
  
  
       CHAPTER FIRST
  
  When young I did commence upon the stage
      My feeble service to the present age;
  When five and six years old helped milk the cows,
      While brothers in the field did follow plows.
  
  When seven and eight commenced the knitting,
      And by the cradle side I took my sitting
  And there I knit the mittens and the stockings
      Set close and knit and kept the baby rocking.
  
  At nine and ten I helped to make the hay,
      And in the meadow helped my pa from day to day;
  And Oh! How pleased I was to hear him say,
      "Wife, can you spare your little girl to-day?"
  
  How well I loved to work with my dear father
      And many happy days we spent together;
  He was so pleasant, cheerful and so kind,
      It always cheered and feasted my young mind.
  
  And then I'd go and help to haul the hay,
      To load the wagon and to mow away,
  And when I'd build the load high in the air
      He'd say, "My little girl, you're done, come here.
  
  "Now come to me, don't be afraid,
      You shall not fall," my father said;
  I would fix and slide into his hand
      And soon upon the ground beside him stand.
  
  Sometimes he'd kiss me and to me would say,
      "My little girl you have done well to-day,
  You've built a pretty, square and well-formed load";
      Then starting to the barn we'd take the road.
  
  In the rich hollow meadow,
      I remember well one day,
  It was in the afternoon
      When we were hauling hay.
  
  The wagon bed was nearly full;
      Turning round on the side hill
  The wagon there upset
      As wagons sometimes will.
  
  Threw me away below
      On the top of the hay pile,
  My father went to tearing
      At the hay to find his child.
  
  The first glimpse of his face
      Was terror and distress,
  But soon it changed to gladness,
      And joy it did express.
  
  I ran up to his side,
      And I thought it was good luck,
  He said, "Why! Here's my little girl,
      As hearty as a buck."
  
  Sometimes I gathered sheaves
      And helped to shock the grain,
  And thus by honest labor
      We gathered gain.
  
  I helped to weed and hoe
      And tended the garden,
  Helped spin the wool
      And helped to do the carding.
  
  And when the wool was carded
      And all spun,
  And sized and spooled and warped,
      And all was done,
  
  Then I rose up early,
      Fed young geese and chickens,
  And did the morning work
      About the kitchen.
  
  And then away to weaving
      I would hie,
  And bang the loom
      And make the shuttle fly.
  
  And then at night
      When father would come in,
  To tell him what I'd done
      I'd thus begin:
  
  "Besides my chores
      I wove nine yards to-day."
  "Well done, my little girl!"
      My father'd say.
  
  His smile and words
      Did much increase my joys,
  To hear him say, "You have earned
      More than I and all my boys."
  
  And when the cloth was wove
      'Twas differently dressed,
  For them 'twas fulled and colored
      And also sheared and pressed.
  
  And when the cloth came home
      We tried our skill at making,
  We cut and fit and sewed,
      'Twas quite an undertaking;
  Till every man and mother's son
      Had a new suit when frost began.
  
  The winter we put in so good
      In a warm house with lots of wood,
  No matter if 'twas rain or snow,
      We spun the flax and spun the tow.
  
  And when the spring began to break,
      We make the sugar by the cake;
  And 'twas to me a pleasant play
      To help at that from day to day.
  
  We had a good, kind, trusty mare
      That I could catch, put in the car,
  Then take the barrel, pail and funnel,
      Likewise the gourd to fill the barrel.
  
  And lead the mare from tree to tree
      And dip it clean as you may see,
  And when I got the barrel full,
      To go to camp, it was the rule.
  
  In daytime, mother boiled the kettles,
      At night my father chopped and whittled,
  And thus prepared the next day's wood
      And mother boiled the kettles good.
  
  And there she sat a sewing
      Or, she knit with all her might,
  And she kept a good lookout
      That the work was going right.
  
  And all the little craft,
      That could do any work,
  Had something to do
      And little chance to shirk.
  
  And thus fine lots of sugar we did make,
      Sometimes we made it crumb and sometimes cake;
  And then we made molasses very nice
      To eat on pancakes or on bread a slice.
  
  At straining of the syrup, and
      At sugaring, oft she plied her hand,
  And often at the camp
      Her work was in demand.
  
  She kept a sharp lookout
      That all the work went on,
  Her presence was the axle
      That business turned upon.
  
  Where she was the most needed
      There she was the most seen,
  And a superior woman
      My Mother sure, has been.