In all
the homes of my brothers and sisters
Is a
sampler Mama embroidered for each family.
Actually,
I embroidered most, if not all, of my own
while
I was in the hospital when Eddy was born.
Because
of complications, we spent a week.
I
always thought Edgar A. Guest wrote it.
Maybe
because it starts with “Guest” or maybe it’s true.
On
the Internet, some say “unknown”;
Some
say “J. P. McEvoy”; and some say
Edgar
A. Guest.
I’m
sticking with Mama.
One
of our most cherished books was
“Heap
O’ Livin’”.
Mama
quoted Edgar A. Guest almost as much as she
quoted
scripture and proverbs when we were growing up.
It takes a heap o' livin'
in a house t' make it
home,
A heap o' sun an' shadder, an' ye
sometimes
have t' roam
Afore ye really 'preciate the things ye
lef'
behind,
An' hunger fer 'em somehow, with 'em
allus
on yer mind.
It don't make any differunce how rich
ye get
t' be,
How much yer chairs an' tables cost,
how great
yer luxury;
It ain't home t' ye, though it be the
palace of a
king,
Until somehow yer soul is sort o'
wrapped round
everything.
Home ain't a place that gold can buy or get
up
in a minute;
Afore it's home there's got t' be a
heap o' livin'
in it;
Within the walls there's got t' be some
babies
born, and then
Right there ye've got t' bring 'em up
t' women
good, an' men;
And gradjerly as time goes on, ye find
ye
wouldn't part
With anything they ever used--they've
grown
into yer heart:
The old high chairs, the playthings,
too, the
little shoes they wore
Ye hoard; an' if ye could ye'd keep the
thumb-marks on the door.
Ye've got t' weep t' make it home, ye've got
t'
sit an' sigh
An' watch beside a loved one's bed, an'
know
that Death is nigh;
An' in the stillness o' the night t'
see Death's
angel come,
An' close the eyes o' her that smiled,
an' leave
her sweet voice dumb.
Fer these are scenes that grip the
heart, an'
when yer tears are dried,
Ye find the home is dearer than it was,
an'
sanctified;
An' tuggin' at ye always are the
pleasant
memories
O' her that was an' is no more--ye
can't escape
from these.
Ye've got t' sing an' dance fer years, ye've
got
t' romp an' play,
An' learn t' love the things ye have by
usin' 'em
each day;
Even the roses 'round the porch must
blossom
year by year
Afore they 'come a part o' ye,
suggestin'
someone dear
Who used t' love 'em long ago, an'
trained 'em
jes t' run
The way they do, so's they would get
the early
mornin' sun;
Ye've got t' love each brick an' stone
from
cellar up t' dome:
It takes a heap o' livin' in a house t'
make it
home.
''Just
start to sing as you tackle the thing.”
Edgar A. Guest
Mama
did that too.
We
were reared on Church hymn doctrine.
If
we didn’t want to tend the baby,
She would gently begin to sing:
If
we knew the baby fingers
Pressed against the window pane,
Would be cold and stiff tomorrow—
Never trouble us again—
Would the bright eyes of our darling
Catch the frown upon our brow?
Would the prints of rosy fingers
Vex us then as they do now?
That is from
SCATTER SEEDS OF KINDNESS
The
other verses are a sermon too.
Let
us gather up the sunbeams,
Lying all around our path;
Let us keep the wheat and roses,
Casting out the thorns and chaff;
Let us find our sweetest comfort
In the blessings of today,
With a patient hand removing
All the briers from the way.
Refrain
Then scatter seeds of kindness,
Then scatter seeds of kindness,
Then scatter seeds of kindness,
For our reaping by and by.
Strange
we never prize the music
Till the sweet-voiced bird is flown!
Strange that we should slight the violets
Till the lovely flowers are gone!
Strange that summer skies and sunshine
Never seem one half so fair,
As when winter’s snowy pinions
Shake the white down in the air.
Refrain
Ah!
those little ice-cold fingers,
How they point our memories back
To the hasty words and actions
Strewn along our backward track!
How those little hands remind us,
As in snowy grace they lie,
Not to scatter thorns—but
roses—
For our reaping by and by.
Refrain
Words by May R. Smith;
Music by Silas J. Vail
Whenever we quarreled or had a tiff
with a friend,
Our rebuke was in song:
Angry
words! O let them never,
From the tongue unbridled slip,
May the heart's best impulse ever,
Check them ere they soil the lip.
Refrain
Love
one another thus saith the Savior,
Children obey the Father's blest command,
Love each other, love each other,
'Tis the Father's blest command.
Love
is much too pure and holy,
Friendship is too sacred far,
For a moment's reckless folly,
Thus to desolate and mar.
Refrain
Angry
words are lightly spoken,
Bitterest thoughts are rashly stirred,
Brightest links of life are broken,
By a single angry word.
Refrain
The
most repeated proverb was expounded
Every
time we made a bed, swept a floor,
Or
hastened in any task so we could slip outside.
Our
version was slightly different. We said:
All that
you do,
Do with
your might;
Things done
by half,
Are never
done right.
All that
you do, do with all
of your might for things
done by halves are never done right.
Back
to Edgar A. Guest and Mama;
When
I hear nothing from some of my sisters
after
we spent a few days in our SunRiver home
for our
annual Sisters’ Retreat;
I
think a couple of them took to heart:
“You don’t
have to thank me,
Or laugh
at my jokes.
Sit deep
and come often.
You’re
one of the folks.”
Mama
believed that;
She
welcomed everyone into her home;
As did
her mother before her.
And I
need to too.
Grow
up, Jeanette
