My Great-grandmothers poem(s)

[Lozzer]

This is just of many poems my great-grandmother wrote. I don't know much about her, although I've been told she cared allot about me as a child. She only received 10 years education, but still, she managed to write an entire biography with any grammar or spelling mistakes. Here is an poem excerpt from the end of her book (which I'll publish on request).




The Volunteer Organist
The Preacher in the Village Church
One Sunday morning said
"Our organist is ill today,
Will someone play instead?"
An anxious look crept o'er the face
Of every person there,
And eagerly they looked to see
Who'd fill the vacant chair.
A man then staggered down the aisle,
His clothes were old and torn,
How strange a drunkard seemed to be
In Church on Sunday morn,
But when he touched the organ keys,
Without a single word,
The melody that followed
Was the sweetest ever heard.
The scene was one l’ll ne'er forget,
As long as I may live,
And just to see it o'er again
All earthly wealth I'd give.
The congregation, all amazed,
The Preacher, old and grey,
The organ and the organist
Who volunteered to play,
Each eye shed tears within the church,
The strongest men grew pale,
The organist, in melody,
Had told his own life's tale,
The sermon of the Preacher
Was no lesson to compare
With that of life's example
Who sat in the organ chair.
And when the service ended,
Not a soul had left a seat,
Except the poor old organist,
Who walked towards the street.
Along the aisle and out the door,
He slowly went away,
The Preacher rose and softly said
"Good Brethren, Let us Pray.”


And as she used to say

"Every time I pass a Church
I pay a little visit.
So that, when I'm carried off
The Lord won't say “Who is it?”

I'm not sure if these are several poems or just one, but I'll post them anyway.

"The mornings now are darker,
And twilight comes too soon.
September mornings, chilly,
Gone is the warmth of June.


The leaves will soon be falling,
To carpet summer grass.
The flowers slowly dying,
Cease their nodding as we pass.


The birds which once were nesting,
Are seeking warmer climes.
And squirrels nuts are storing,
With thoughts of leaner times.


The harvest has been gathered,
We have reaped another year.
We are older, we are wiser,
To the things that we hold dear.


Remember me, when I am gone away, only remember me.
Yet if you should forget me for a while,
And afterward remember, do not grieve.
Better by far you should forget and smile,
Than that you should remember, and feel sad.
¬

Two A’s, two R’s two T’s and a B,
Put them together and spell them to me.
BARRATT,


¬Wanting to belong isn't easy,
When they're making it rough instead.
But the hardest of all is knowing,
They are all better born, better bred.


I thank you for so many things, Winter, Summer, Autumn, Spring,
But if I should be left alone, without a hearth, a friend, a home.
If you look downward and this you see,
Move over, Lord, make room for me.


In this world of silence. where I find myself today,
Help me to remember the sounds I used to know.
Let my vision strengthen so that I may see,
The colour of the flowers,
That Sid put in for me."

(Sid is my grandfather)
I believe my great-grandmothers maiden name is Barrat. Or I believe at some point there was marriage into the Barret family. Back then, and now, the family has been renowned for its candy. I've been told they're steaming rich.