It is wise for us to return to the history of our ancestors. Those who do not look upon themselves and their fellow man as links connecting the past with the future, do not perform their duty to the world.
By Daniel Webster
THE LAST ROSE OF SUMMER
"Tis the last rose of summer,
Left blooming alone;
All her lovely companions
Are faded and gone;
No flower of her kindred,
No rosebud is nigh,
To reflect back her blushes,
Or give sigh for sigh!
I'll not leave thee, thou lone one,
To pine on the stem;
Since the lovely are sleeping,
Go sleep thou with them.
Thus kindly I scatter
Thy leaves o're the bed
Where thy mates of the garden
Lie scentless and dead.
So soon may I follow,
When friendships decay,
And from Love's shining circle
The gems drop away!
When true hearts lie withered,
And fond ones are flown,
Oh! who would inhabit
This bleak world alone?
~A Prayer For Genealogists~
Lord, help me dig into the past and sift the sands of time,
That I may find the roots that made this family mine.
Lord, help me trace the ancient roads on which my fathers trod,
And led them through so many lands to find our present sod.
Lord, help me find an ancient book, or dusty manuscript,
That's safely hidden now away in some forgotten crypt.
Lord, let it bridge the gap that haunts my soul when I can't find,
The missing link between some name that ends the same as mine.
Your tombstone stands among the rest
Neglected and alone
The name and date are chiseled out
On polished, marble stone
It reaches out, to all who care
It is too late to mourn
You did not know, that we'd exist
You died, and we were born
Yet each of us, are cells of you
In flesh, in blood, in bone
Our blood contracts, and beats a pulse
Entirely not our own
We wonder how you lived and loved
We wonder if you knew
That someday we would find this spot
And come to visit you.
~Do Not Weep~
Do not stand by my grave and weep;
I am not dead; I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow;
I am a diamond glint on snow.
I am the sunset on ripened grain;
I am the gently falling rain.
When you awake in the autumn hush,
I am the swift uplifting rush.
Of quiet birds in circling flight,
I am the soft starshine at night.
Do not stand by my grave and cry;
I am not there, I did not die.
JUST A FEW FAMILY NAMES: