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/
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  Well, I was just thinking,
      Over sixty years ago,
  How nice we went to meeting
      In the winter on the snow.
  
  And of that pleasant company,
      How many now are dead
  That then I rode to meeting with,
      So snugly in the sled.
  
  They thrashed the rye with flails then,
      And so they thrashed the wheat,
  My father took the long straw    
      And bound it square and neat.
  
  And for my mother and my sister
      It made a most commodious seat,
  And there they sat in order,
      And I thought they looked so sweet.
  
  I remember how it looked
      When bound up the three ties,
  And laid across the box behind
      A sheaf of good size.
  
  And on it a double coverlet
      That looked so nice and new,
  The colors were so brilliant,
      They were red, white and blue.
  
  My father and my brother
      Sat on a sheaf before,
  And they rode on a coverlet,
      Perhaps a little lower.
  
  They gathered up the coverlet
      Around their legs and feet,
  And we looked as snug and cozy
      As any we could meet!
  
  And we sat in the middle,
      No sheaf we sat upon,
  But we sat on a coverlet
      My self and Brother John.
  
  And there was lots of straw
      Under the coverlet,
  Almost as soft and easy
      As if we had been abed.
  
  We sat between their seats,
      Of course, were snug and warm,
  Then we did not fear the wind,
      Nor the cold winter storm.
  
  I remember how they looked,
      Sitting on the sheaf of straw,
  And I remember father's voice
      As he sounded gee and haw.
  
  And I remember those fine horses,
      Their names were Roan and Dick,
  How soon they'd trot two miles,
      And they'd take us there so quick.
  
  We were chiefly dressed in homespun,
      Snug and warm and clean,
  My father and his family
      Then oft at church were seen.
  
  And their Quaker-drab greatcoats,
      From their ears to their feet,
  And the large capes around their shoulders,
      Reached down toward the seat.
  
  My mother's cloak was Quaker-drab,
      Her hat was Quaker too,
  Her smooth fair cheeks were round and red,
      Her eyes were pretty blue.
  
  But those expressive eyes are closed,
      Her child no more can see,
  With a look of approbation
      Or reproof for me.
  
  Her hat was very pretty,
      Made of finest fur,
  And she could sing most sweetly,
      And I learned to sing of her.
  
  My father, too, could sing,
      But not so well as mother,
  But in family worship
      We all did sing together.
  
  The preachers, too, taught me to sing,
      When I was very young,
  They told me I must sing for them,
      And so, for them I sung.
  
  And when they'd come to father's 
      They'd often say to me,
  "I want to hear you sing now,
      Come sit upon my knee."
  
  They taught me many tunes,
      And good verses about Heaven,
  That I could sing for them
      Long before I was seven.
  
  The preaching place moved to fathers
      Before that I was seven,
  And I helped to wash their clothes
      But the time I was eleven.
  
  And when they went to conference
      They, in flocks, to father's came,
  For mother made her house
      Their pleasant, welcome home.
  
  And father's barn was large,
      Well filled with oats and hay,
  And they found it quite convenient
      To go and come that way.
  
  But now, that blessed father
      Has gone home to his rest,
  And of all living men
      He was one of the best.
  
  Peaces to his ashes,
      And peace to his soul,
  May sweet peace and pleasure
      Round him ever roll.
  
  Peace was his motto,
      And peace was his aim,
  He labored for peace
      And was always the same.
  
  He has gone to where peace
      Doth flow as a river,
  And joy without ceasing,
      Forever and forever.
  
  And that beloved sister
      Has gone to her reward,
  She loved to read her Bible
      And call upon the Lord.
  
  When I saw her with her Bible
      Going toward the east away,
  I knew that she was going
      To the place she chose to pray.
  
  Then I went round the south side,
      Round the knoll to the right,
  That way I could get near her,
      And still keep out of sight.
  
  And when I got so near,
      I could hear what she would say,
  I would fall upon my knees
      And with her I'd try to pray.
  
  In the northeast corner of the door yard,
      Full twenty rods or more,
  The wind had blown a tree down,
      Many a year before.
  
  And the bushes and the briers
      Grew up, around a little space,
  And left it in the middle
      A clear and vacant place.
  
  In there she laid her Bible,
      On the trunk of that old tree,
  And there she read and prayed,
      Upon her bended knee.
  
  And so she followed on,
      To love and serve the Lord,
  Till a little over seventy
      She was called to her reward.