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/
  ________________________________________________
  

  On being invited to take a ride out to visit one of my sons who had been 
  making some improvements about his house and premises since I had been there; 
  and brick falling into my chimney and that son cleaning it all out, give rise 
  to the following lines...
  
  My eyes are so sore
      That it fills me with gloom,
  I'm so blind, I'm unfit
      To take care of my room.
  
  I would go to my son's house
      And there I would stay,
  But I'm so fond of my home
      And I like my own way.
  
  I can sit where I please
      And recline at my ease,
  Lie down on my bed
      To ease my sick head.
  
  Lie down on my sofa,
      It's close to the fire,
  I can have what I want,
      What I wish or desire.
  
  And I have a good stove
      That will bake, boil or fry,
  But sometimes smoked so bad
      I was afraid I should die.
  
  And it set me to thinking
      What best I might do,
  And perhaps, my dear son,
      I'd best go home with you.
  
  He took down the pipe
      And he did it so quick,
  And then from the chimney
      He took out some brick.
  
  Then put back the pipe,
      Now it smokes no more,
  If I'd known what had ailed it
      It would have been done before.
  
  So now the thing's changed
      My stove I won't sell,
  Since my son cleaned the chimney
      It has done very well.
  
  I have made up my mind
      That I will stay where I be,
  And not go through the cold,
      Pretty things to see.
  
  And now I burn wood,
      And conclude on the whole,
  I like my house better
      Than when I burnt coal.
  
  'Tis so nice and so clean,
      So warm and so good,
  I won't go abroad now.
      No, not if I could.
  
  I have a nice little grandson
      To tend to my fire,
  And a nice little cook
      You can't help but admire.
  
  Her smiles and her words,
      Are so soothing and kind,
  That they tend to encourage
      And cheer my sad mind.
  
  For no one with sore eyes,
      That pains them like mine,
  But needs sympathy, patience,
      Faith and grace combined.
  
  I want to be thankful
      I am still on my feet,
  And can see how to walk 'round
      And find my good seat.
  
  Where on my armchair
      I can rock, me, and sing
  Of the mercies and blessings
      Of Heaven's High King.
  
  What blessings!  What blessings!
      Have shown on my way!
  And mercy through all
      My long life, every day.
  
  How shall I be thankful
      For what I received,
  All glory to God
      In the highest, I'll give.
  
  When I pass over Jordan,
      My eyes will be well,
  Then anthems of praises
      With angels I'll swell.
  
  I long to see those
      Who sang with me here,
  Bright spirits in glory,
      That to me was so dear.
  
  O, then we'll soon learn
      That delightful new song,
  Described in the Bible,
      We'll join with the throng.
  
  We'll join with our parents,
      Our children and friends,
  And there, with those love ones,
      Eternity spend.
  
  And then we'll see Jesus,
      Our Brother and Friend,
  And praise Him forever,
      World without end.