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"He who knoweth not from whence he came,
careth little whither he goeth."

                                                                   Daniel Webster





A Bridge Across Time

She calls to me from long ago;
through sunlit skies; through drifts of snow; in dancing clouds above the sea, I call to her....and she to me.

So real was she. She laughed; she cried.
She loved; she lost. She lived... she died. In hopes and dreams, so real was she. She lived her life that I may be.

The blood through which my veins does flow.
The same as her's, so long ago. So it will be. Then when I'm gone, in a future child it will flow on.

I'll live my life, and when it's done,
I'll live again in those to come. For I'm a bridge from she to me;
from all that were, to those to be.

Author Darlene Stevens




An Obsession Called Genealogy


I trudge through the graveyard

In spite of the rain.

Searching for the knowledge

I’ve come here to gain.

The grass is all wet and

So are my shoes,

But that does not stop me

I’ve too much to lose.

Nestled in the country

Sits this final resting place,

Brimming with the history

That I long to trace.

Those elusive ancestors

May lie here in wait.

I must find the right name.

I must find the right date.

Or toppled or leaning,

The writing is faded,

Will it even have meaning?

Who’ve been names on pages

Of research I’ve done and

Preserved for the ages.

As I kneel down beside them,

I feel a strong bond.

I know them so well now,

And of them I’m fond.

I’ve studied their history,

Their families, their life.

I know of their journey,

Their joys and their strife.

They’re no longer just data,

They’re real to me now.

They won't be forgotten,

I make them that vow.

How I long to ask questions

Of these "old ones" of mine.

They could solve all the mysteries

Of this ancestral line.

They could fill in the blanks

On that family group sheet.

They could give me the answers

To make it complete.

So I ask them to help me,

But silence abounds.

Just the sound of the rain

That is soaking the ground.

But somehow their wisdom

Seems to speak to my mind,

And they’re saying, "How boring,

If there’s nothing to find!"

And I know that they’re right,

I need to play the detective,

To find my own answers,

Just to make my work effective.

And wipe the stone clean.

Wishing, quite childlike,

For a real time machine!

Then it’s back to courthouses,

The libraries, the lists,

The computer, the census,

The books that I’ve missed.

But they’ll always be with me,

These "ancients" I’ve met.

With them there to guide me,

We’ll solve it all yet!

author Linda Herrmann



Do Not Stand At My Grave


Do not stand at my grave and weep I am not there, I do not sleep I am a thousands winds that blow; I am sunlight on ripened grain; I am the gentle autumns rain.

When you waken in the morning's hush, I am the swift, uplifting rush Of quiet birds in circled flight. I am the soft star that shines at night. Do not stand at my grave and cry, I am not there, I did not die.

Author Unknown




Do You Know Me

Do you know me, as I know some of you?
Yes, my ancestors, I feel that you do. You came to this country from places both far and near. You married, made homes, and had children to rear.

Your children had children, and theirs did too.
Until over the years their families grew. You made it through droughts, the depression, and wars. Even the black plague knocked on some of your doors.

Through all of these events your bloodlines survived.
My Grandparents had children, and then I arrived. Housewives, Farmers, and Laborers were you. You made a better place for me and my family too.

Your stories have not been lost, for they are still told,
of the way you lived your lives until you grew old. This is how don’t you see? That I have come to know you, and that you know me.

Author Randall S. Treadway


Family Tree

One thing is for certain, these are uncertain times.
And this world in which we're livin' offers little peace of mind. We sail on troubled waters and walk on shaky ground, But there is a source of strength that I have found.


There hangs inside my father's house a picture on the wall Of my grandfather's father standin' strong and tall. I stare into his face sometimes and gaze into his eyes. There's just something there that helps me realize

That there's a family tree surrounding me,
Reminding me that I do not stand alone. And in my darkest hour, in my greatest time of need I'm strengthened by the roots of my family tree.

I think of mom and dad, how they worked hard to provide.
Now I see how much they loved us and just how much they sacrificed. To know their love is timeless though we're far way and grown Helps me see that I am never all alone.

'Cause there's a family tree surrounding me,
Reminding me that I do not stand alone. And in my darkest hour, in my greatest time of need I'm strengthened by the roots of my family tree.

And if God should grant me children to raise upon this earth
I pray that I could teach them the measure of their worth, Not in terms of money or in what they may achieve, But in being one more branch of the family tree.

There's a family tree surrounding me,
Reminding me that I do not stand alone. And in my darkest hour, in my greatest time of need I'm strengthened by the roots of my family tree.

by Lionel Cartwright, from the album "Chasin' the Sun"
© 1991 Warner-Tamerlane Publishing Corp./Long Run Music



The Family Tree


I think that I shall never see, the finish of a family tree, As it forever seems to grow, from roots that started long ago. One seldom knows exactly when, the parents met and married then; Nor when the twigs began to grow, with odd named children row on row. Though verse like this was made by me, the end's in sight as you can see. 'Tis not the same with family trees, that grow and grow through centuries.


Author unknown



How Green Was My Valley

Courage came to me from the height of the mountain, and with it came the dignity of manhood, and knowledge of the Tree of Life, for now I was a branch, running with the vital blood, waiting in the darkness of the Garden .... to bring forth sons and daughters.


 I saw behind me those who had gone, and before me, those who were to come. I looked back and saw my father, and his father, and all our fathers, and in front, to see my son, and his son, and the sons upon sons beyond.


And their eyes were my eyes.


As I felt, so they had felt, and were to feel, as then, so now, as tomorrow and forever.


Then I was not afraid, for I was in a long line that had no beginning, and no end, and the hand of his father grasped my father's hand, and his hand was in mine,

and my unborn son took my right hand, and all, up and down the line that stretched from Time That Was, to Time That Is, and Is Not Yet,

raised their hands to show the link,

and we found that we were one, born of Woman, son of Man, made in the Image, fashioned in the Womb by the Will of God, the Eternal Father.


by Richard Llewellyn



An t-Eilean Muileach


(Mull's "National Anthem" is An t-Eilean Muileach (The Isle of Mull), written and composed by Dugald MacPhail (1818-87). The English words are by Malcolm MacFarlane.


The Isle of Mull is of isles the fairest

Of ocean's gems 'tis the first and rarest,

Green grassy island of sparkling fountains,

Of waving woods and high tow'ring mountains.


How pleasant 'twas in the sweet May morning,

The rising sun thy gay fields adorning;

The feathered songsters their lays were singing,

While rocks and woods were with echoes ringing.


The Isle of Mull is of isles the fairest,

Of ocean's gems 'tis the first and rarest;

Green grassy island of sparkling fountains,

Of waving woods and high tow'ring mountains.


But gone are now all those joys for ever,

Like bubbles bursting on yonder river:

Farewell, farewell, to thy sparkling fountains,

Thy waving woods and high tow'ring mountains.


The Isle of Mull is of isles the fairest,

Of ocean's gems 'tis the first and rarest;

Green grassy island of sparkling fountains,

Of waving woods and high tow'ring mountains.


(The Isle of Mull is the home of my MacLean ancestors - Darlene Campbell)




The Recording of a Cemetery

On a lonely, windswept hill;

Today we talked where others cried

For loved ones whose lives are stilled.

Today our hearts were touched

By graves of tiny babies,

Snatched from the arms of loving kin,

In the heartbreak of the ages.

In the last sleep of their times;

Lying under the trees and clouds –

Their beds kissed by the sun and wind.

Who lies beneath this hollow ground?

Was it a babe, child, young or old?

No indication could be found.

Today we saw where Mom and Dad lay,

We had been here once before

On a day we’d all like to forget,

But will remember forever more.

The graves of ancestors past;

To be preserved for generations hence,

A record we hope will last.

Cherish it my friend, preserve it my friend,

For stones sometimes crumble to dust

And generations of folks yet to come

Will be grateful for your trust.


by Thelma Greene Reagan




The Tree


Life wasn't always easy; but she never did complain.

Though I saw her shed a leaf or two; when cold Novembers came.

How her arms spread wide and welcomed, any weary nesting soul.

Vast numbers took their comfort there; in spring and winters' snow.

When August sun's beat down on me, I rested 'neath her shade,

And warmed myself in winter with the firewood she gave.

Played beneath the shelter of her strong and sturdy limbs,

Swung from her branches happily with all my childhood friends.

In her bark, I carve initials of those sweethearts long forgot,

From her branches, hang my medals, hide my secrets in her knots.

From her seeds, I grew an orchard; in her leaves I made a bed,

And when I thought to give up...her trunk spoke, "forge ahead!"

I gaze now through her branches, far past where eyes can see,

And every bough uncovered, tells that much more of ME!

And I proudly bear the markings of her awesome history,

Oh she started but a seedling...and became my family tree.


vikimouse 1998




Your Name

You got from your father

It was all he had to give

So it's yours to use and cherish for as long as you live.

If you lose the watch he gave you It can always be replaced

But a black mark on your name, Son, Can never be erased.

It was clean the day you took it

And a worthy name to bear

When he got it from his father

There was no dishonor there.

So make sure you guard it wisely,

After all is said and done

You'll be glad the name is spotless

When you give it to your son.

Author Edgar Albert Guest