This Person is Still Living.
Beloved Pets:
❁Powder Puff and
❁Boo Bear
"That whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have eternal life.
"For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life.
"For God sent not his son into the world to condemn the world; but that the world through him might be saved."
John 3:15-17
Coming Home At Twilight
By Mary L. Sterling
Coming home at twilight
As the rose colored sky turns
Deep blue and scattered with twinkling stars
A Sigh
And relief
As the soul slips free from its earthly bonds
To soar high above the scattered clouds
Whisping o're the distant hills.
The leaves of the trees rustle in the soft breeze
Like the gown of a dress left to fall to the ground
Unfettered
Set free
From its ties that fasten it to this realm
As the soul slips free from its earthly bonds
To soar high above the scattered clouds
Whisping o're the distant hills
Reaching farther than the horizon
In a far distant Land.
Sweet as the moistness of dew kissed grass
Upon my feet
As they travel far to that distant land
Sublime in
Sweet reprise
Tis there my feet now trod
Past the Pearly Gates
On paths of gold
As the soul slips free from its earthly bonds
To soar high above the scattered clouds
Whisping o're the distant hills
In a Heavenly place
I now call Home.
Thank you to C@ Member#4 7 3 6 0 4 4 8 for sponsoring Marylee's memorial. Her generous kindness is very appreciated
Bio written by a relative who wishes to remain anonymous.
Copyright © 2015 by Mary L. Sterling All personal materials, images, and data contained herein are not to be copied or down loaded for commercial purposes of duplication, distribution, or publishing without the express written permission of the owner. Information contained on this memorial is provided free for the purpose of aiding individuals doing genealogical research and to preserve family history.
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
Sweet Afton
Poem by Robert Burns (1791)
Music by Jonathan Spillman (1837)
Flow gently, sweet Afton! amang thy green braes,
Flow gently, I'll sing thee a song in thy praise;
My Mary's asleep by thy murmuring stream,
Flow gently, sweet Afton, disturb not her dream.
Thou stockdove whose echo resounds thro' the glen,
Ye wild whistling blackbirds in yon thorny den,
Thou green-crested lapwing thy screaming forbear,
I charge you, disturb not my slumbering Fair.
How lofty, sweet Afton, thy neighbouring hills,
Far mark'd with the courses of clear, winding rills;
There daily I wander as noon rises high,
My flocks and my Mary's sweet cot in my eye.
How pleasant thy banks and green valleys below,
Where, wild in the woodlands, the primroses blow;
There oft, as mild Ev'ning weeps over the lea,
The sweet-scented birk shades my Mary and me.
Thy crystal stream, Afton, how lovely it glides,
And winds by the cot where my Mary resides;
How wanton thy waters her snowy feet lave,
As, gathering sweet flowerets, she stems thy clear wave.
Flow gently, sweet Afton, amang thy green braes,
Flow gently, sweet river, the theme of my lays;
My Mary's asleep by thy murmuring stream,
Flow gently, sweet Afton, disturb not her dream…
Beloved Pets:
❁Powder Puff and
❁Boo Bear
"That whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have eternal life.
"For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life.
"For God sent not his son into the world to condemn the world; but that the world through him might be saved."
John 3:15-17
Coming Home At Twilight
By Mary L. Sterling
Coming home at twilight
As the rose colored sky turns
Deep blue and scattered with twinkling stars
A Sigh
And relief
As the soul slips free from its earthly bonds
To soar high above the scattered clouds
Whisping o're the distant hills.
The leaves of the trees rustle in the soft breeze
Like the gown of a dress left to fall to the ground
Unfettered
Set free
From its ties that fasten it to this realm
As the soul slips free from its earthly bonds
To soar high above the scattered clouds
Whisping o're the distant hills
Reaching farther than the horizon
In a far distant Land.
Sweet as the moistness of dew kissed grass
Upon my feet
As they travel far to that distant land
Sublime in
Sweet reprise
Tis there my feet now trod
Past the Pearly Gates
On paths of gold
As the soul slips free from its earthly bonds
To soar high above the scattered clouds
Whisping o're the distant hills
In a Heavenly place
I now call Home.
Thank you to C@ Member#4 7 3 6 0 4 4 8 for sponsoring Marylee's memorial. Her generous kindness is very appreciated
Bio written by a relative who wishes to remain anonymous.
Copyright © 2015 by Mary L. Sterling All personal materials, images, and data contained herein are not to be copied or down loaded for commercial purposes of duplication, distribution, or publishing without the express written permission of the owner. Information contained on this memorial is provided free for the purpose of aiding individuals doing genealogical research and to preserve family history.
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
Sweet Afton
Poem by Robert Burns (1791)
Music by Jonathan Spillman (1837)
Flow gently, sweet Afton! amang thy green braes,
Flow gently, I'll sing thee a song in thy praise;
My Mary's asleep by thy murmuring stream,
Flow gently, sweet Afton, disturb not her dream.
Thou stockdove whose echo resounds thro' the glen,
Ye wild whistling blackbirds in yon thorny den,
Thou green-crested lapwing thy screaming forbear,
I charge you, disturb not my slumbering Fair.
How lofty, sweet Afton, thy neighbouring hills,
Far mark'd with the courses of clear, winding rills;
There daily I wander as noon rises high,
My flocks and my Mary's sweet cot in my eye.
How pleasant thy banks and green valleys below,
Where, wild in the woodlands, the primroses blow;
There oft, as mild Ev'ning weeps over the lea,
The sweet-scented birk shades my Mary and me.
Thy crystal stream, Afton, how lovely it glides,
And winds by the cot where my Mary resides;
How wanton thy waters her snowy feet lave,
As, gathering sweet flowerets, she stems thy clear wave.
Flow gently, sweet Afton, amang thy green braes,
Flow gently, sweet river, the theme of my lays;
My Mary's asleep by thy murmuring stream,
Flow gently, sweet Afton, disturb not her dream…
This Person is Still Living.
Beloved Pets:
❁Powder Puff and
❁Boo Bear
"That whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have eternal life.
"For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life.
"For God sent not his son into the world to condemn the world; but that the world through him might be saved."
John 3:15-17
Coming Home At Twilight
By Mary L. Sterling
Coming home at twilight
As the rose colored sky turns
Deep blue and scattered with twinkling stars
A Sigh
And relief
As the soul slips free from its earthly bonds
To soar high above the scattered clouds
Whisping o're the distant hills.
The leaves of the trees rustle in the soft breeze
Like the gown of a dress left to fall to the ground
Unfettered
Set free
From its ties that fasten it to this realm
As the soul slips free from its earthly bonds
To soar high above the scattered clouds
Whisping o're the distant hills
Reaching farther than the horizon
In a far distant Land.
Sweet as the moistness of dew kissed grass
Upon my feet
As they travel far to that distant land
Sublime in
Sweet reprise
Tis there my feet now trod
Past the Pearly Gates
On paths of gold
As the soul slips free from its earthly bonds
To soar high above the scattered clouds
Whisping o're the distant hills
In a Heavenly place
I now call Home.
Thank you to C@ Member#4 7 3 6 0 4 4 8 for sponsoring Marylee's memorial. Her generous kindness is very appreciated
Bio written by a relative who wishes to remain anonymous.
Copyright © 2015 by Mary L. Sterling All personal materials, images, and data contained herein are not to be copied or down loaded for commercial purposes of duplication, distribution, or publishing without the express written permission of the owner. Information contained on this memorial is provided free for the purpose of aiding individuals doing genealogical research and to preserve family history.
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
Sweet Afton
Poem by Robert Burns (1791)
Music by Jonathan Spillman (1837)
Flow gently, sweet Afton! amang thy green braes,
Flow gently, I'll sing thee a song in thy praise;
My Mary's asleep by thy murmuring stream,
Flow gently, sweet Afton, disturb not her dream.
Thou stockdove whose echo resounds thro' the glen,
Ye wild whistling blackbirds in yon thorny den,
Thou green-crested lapwing thy screaming forbear,
I charge you, disturb not my slumbering Fair.
How lofty, sweet Afton, thy neighbouring hills,
Far mark'd with the courses of clear, winding rills;
There daily I wander as noon rises high,
My flocks and my Mary's sweet cot in my eye.
How pleasant thy banks and green valleys below,
Where, wild in the woodlands, the primroses blow;
There oft, as mild Ev'ning weeps over the lea,
The sweet-scented birk shades my Mary and me.
Thy crystal stream, Afton, how lovely it glides,
And winds by the cot where my Mary resides;
How wanton thy waters her snowy feet lave,
As, gathering sweet flowerets, she stems thy clear wave.
Flow gently, sweet Afton, amang thy green braes,
Flow gently, sweet river, the theme of my lays;
My Mary's asleep by thy murmuring stream,
Flow gently, sweet Afton, disturb not her dream…
Beloved Pets:
❁Powder Puff and
❁Boo Bear
"That whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have eternal life.
"For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life.
"For God sent not his son into the world to condemn the world; but that the world through him might be saved."
John 3:15-17
Coming Home At Twilight
By Mary L. Sterling
Coming home at twilight
As the rose colored sky turns
Deep blue and scattered with twinkling stars
A Sigh
And relief
As the soul slips free from its earthly bonds
To soar high above the scattered clouds
Whisping o're the distant hills.
The leaves of the trees rustle in the soft breeze
Like the gown of a dress left to fall to the ground
Unfettered
Set free
From its ties that fasten it to this realm
As the soul slips free from its earthly bonds
To soar high above the scattered clouds
Whisping o're the distant hills
Reaching farther than the horizon
In a far distant Land.
Sweet as the moistness of dew kissed grass
Upon my feet
As they travel far to that distant land
Sublime in
Sweet reprise
Tis there my feet now trod
Past the Pearly Gates
On paths of gold
As the soul slips free from its earthly bonds
To soar high above the scattered clouds
Whisping o're the distant hills
In a Heavenly place
I now call Home.
Thank you to C@ Member#4 7 3 6 0 4 4 8 for sponsoring Marylee's memorial. Her generous kindness is very appreciated
Bio written by a relative who wishes to remain anonymous.
Copyright © 2015 by Mary L. Sterling All personal materials, images, and data contained herein are not to be copied or down loaded for commercial purposes of duplication, distribution, or publishing without the express written permission of the owner. Information contained on this memorial is provided free for the purpose of aiding individuals doing genealogical research and to preserve family history.
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
Sweet Afton
Poem by Robert Burns (1791)
Music by Jonathan Spillman (1837)
Flow gently, sweet Afton! amang thy green braes,
Flow gently, I'll sing thee a song in thy praise;
My Mary's asleep by thy murmuring stream,
Flow gently, sweet Afton, disturb not her dream.
Thou stockdove whose echo resounds thro' the glen,
Ye wild whistling blackbirds in yon thorny den,
Thou green-crested lapwing thy screaming forbear,
I charge you, disturb not my slumbering Fair.
How lofty, sweet Afton, thy neighbouring hills,
Far mark'd with the courses of clear, winding rills;
There daily I wander as noon rises high,
My flocks and my Mary's sweet cot in my eye.
How pleasant thy banks and green valleys below,
Where, wild in the woodlands, the primroses blow;
There oft, as mild Ev'ning weeps over the lea,
The sweet-scented birk shades my Mary and me.
Thy crystal stream, Afton, how lovely it glides,
And winds by the cot where my Mary resides;
How wanton thy waters her snowy feet lave,
As, gathering sweet flowerets, she stems thy clear wave.
Flow gently, sweet Afton, amang thy green braes,
Flow gently, sweet river, the theme of my lays;
My Mary's asleep by thy murmuring stream,
Flow gently, sweet Afton, disturb not her dream…
Gravesite Details
Still Living.
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