Beeson Stories
Stephen Montroville Beason

Back in the days ere I can recall,
There blossomed a "Rose," the sweetest of all.
She was first to bloom on the family tree,
And God took her away when she was three.
To that little home she brought heavenly love,
Then stored for those lone ones treasure above.

God did not leave them comfortless
For still there was Willie the home to bless.
He knew no sadness, no grief, but joy.
He was just a cooing baby boy.
From the depths of his bright, blue laughing eyes
Was sent God's comfort into their lives.

Once more father's heart was filled with joy.
Mother's love now was wrapped in her boy.
But not for long was this happiness from heaven,
For Willie went west-ward when he was seven.
So the second great sorrow, tho' misery to bear,
Stored for those lone ones more treasure up there.

'Though the grain be plucked and buried in the ground,
Ere a month passes by, a new plant may be found,
Springing forth from the earth in the robes of green
Full of life and beauty as ever was seen.
The spirit of life in the seed they hid
Comes forth from the grave to obey God's bid.

And so, from the griefs that come in this life
May spring a great blessing that pays for the strife.
More blessings did come to that old home
When tears had dried and sorrows had flown.
And now, naught remains of that mortal grief
But the cold white scar and the firm belief,
That father, and mother, and daughter, and son
Will meet again when this life is done.

In up-to-date homes of high degree
The number of children is none to three;
But in the old home of this quaint scene
The number of children ran to thirteen.

There was Olive, the eldest, a sweet little lass
With pep and beauty that none could surpass.
A heart full of sympathy, big sister to all,
She could dry our tears, no matter the fall.

Then there was Cleve--and ne'er was another
Could take the place of our own big brother.

Levada in turn was her father's pet;
Nor 'till the meek inherit the earth
Will she obtain a share of her worth.

Next in line was a hot-headed lad.
If he stubbed his toe, he was sure to get mad;
But others have changed, and so has Steve--
Now seldom known to carry a peeve.

Betty, our sis, without much luck--
As came our turns, we passed her the "buck."
None ever worked so hard as she
In storing up knowledge toward a degree.
Ne'er did she fail at what she begun;
'Tho' it took years, it was sure to be done.
Some may accomplish and still work less,
But we point to her as the family's success.

Jessie, the dear, her mother's own child--
And just like her mother, ever is mild.
Always kind and sweet-tempered is she
And loves each one of that old family.

Mace, as a boy, more nerve than physique,
Developed himself to a good athlete.
Obstacles for him are always great,
But he'll conquer them all as sure as fate.

Harry, a smile in our home for a while,
Faded away in a year and a day.
Leaving us tear-stained and wondering why
He should come to smile and then bid good-bye.

Harold the clown in his baby days,
Can still act the part in his grown-up ways.
'Tho' an editor now he has turned to be,
He's still a branch of the family tree.
Second to none was his love for his Pa
Unless 'twere the love he bore for his Ma.

Lola, the baby always must be--
It matters not what age she is.
'Tho' she far above it in dignity rise,
She's still baby sister, whatever her size.
Of nature ability in her we boast--
Or is it because we love her the most?

Pa, ever a God-fearing man in his day
Who oft' read the Bible and often did pray.
Each evening, after his shop-work was done,
We all gathered 'round, and O, such fun:
He'd sing us the songs we liked most to hear,
The more comic they were, the louder we'd cheer.
He'd sing of the shoe-maker in his shoe-maker shop
Whose wife had a tongue that went flippity-flop.
And after the songs, O, the stories he'd tell,
Of Grandfather Morris on the Indians' trail,
Of the war that broke out when he was a boy
And stole from his childhood much of the joy.
We lived with him through those terrible days
And with dare-devil Nathan in his bush-whacking frays;

With youthful Jesse we spent the night
'Neath an old fallen tree, tucked out of sight.
As the enemies horses clambered over the log,
We shuddered and shrank in the darkness and fog.
To the old haunted house we next would be led--
Then we'd shake with fear as we'd go up to bed.
To pile up riches, Pa didn't know how;
But he cared for his flock by the sweat of his brow.
Perfection for him we do not claim,
But his guiding star was an ideal aim.
Doctor of Divinity, mechanic of iron,
Could cut up a beef or operate a farm;
He was wont to use the square and saw,
But we love him best as our own dear Pa.
We love to dream at the close of day
Of our childhood home, now years away.
When the day is saddened by some mishap,
We'd like to huddle in Mother's lap
And slip back to days not so long ago
To hear her sweet voice sing soft and low.
Her skirts we would clutch, to her lap we would climb,
And list' to the songs of lull-a-by time;
"Rock-a-by Baby," "Poor Babes in the Wood;"
We'd live those days over again if we could.
Her eyes were a bright, soft, liquid blue
That shown with love for me and you.
And who among us cannot recall
As she met dear Pa at even' fall
With thoughtful countenance and look far away,
"It seems that Willie's been near me today."
Yea, near her he was and ever will be
For again they shall meet in eternity.

Though now we are scattered, some far and some near
We must try to join hands at least once a year.
Now, here is to Mother! We all love her,
And wish for a dish of her Vinegar Cobbler.

PS--One thing more, then I don't give a rap;
Do you all remember the "Old Scoon-Skin--Scap?"


Our thanks to JoDell Steuver for sharing this charming poem written by her grandfather, Steve Beason. Stephen Beason descended through Richard and Charity's son William and then through his son Thomas Beeson. Stephen's parents were Eaphraim David Beason and Adenia Stephens. The dates of birth and death for the children mentioned in the poem are as follows from youngest to oldest:,BR>

Rosa Mae Katherine Beason b. 7 Jun 1879 d. 2 Oct 1881
Joseph William Beason b. 10 Jun 1881 d. 3 Apr 1888
Olive Lavina Beason b. 24 Feb 1883 d. 21 Sept 1951
Grover Cleveland Beason b. 24 Oct 1884 d. 15 Nov 1965
Mary Levada Beason b. 4 Feb 1889 d. 28 Feb 1968
Stephen Montroville Beason b. 17 Nov 1890 d. 7 May 1978
Betty Alpha Beason b. 2 Sep 1892 d. 7 Jun 1930
Jessie Genevra Beason b. 2 Jul 1895 d. 30 Oct 1950
Macy Virgil Beason b. 8 May 1897 d. 28 Aug 1988
Harry Eaphraim Beason b. 14 nov 1899 d. 15 Nov 1900
Harold Paul Beason b. 5 Jun 1902 d. 30 Nov 1991
Lola Adenia Beason b. 4 Mar 1904 d. 5 Apr 1946

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