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Ancestral Remains


There Are Homes

So long as there are homes to which men turn at the close of day;

So long as there are homes where children are, where women stay;

If love, and loyalty and faith, be found across these sills,

A stricken nation can recover from its ills.

So long as there are homes where fires burn; and there is bread;

So long as there are home where lamps are lit; and prayers are said;

Although people falter through the dark; and nations grope;

With God himself back of these little homes there is hope.

Grace Noll Crowell

CORRECTION: I had thought that this poem in my grandmother's handwriting among her papers had been her work. Of course during most of her life there was no quick and easy photocopy available, if you wanted a copy of something you'd borrowed you wrote it out yourself. Now, my readers here likely won't do either of those things – they'll copy and paste the text into a social media post, or add it to their collection of browser bookmarks.


Fruit Cake

"My wedding cake" – Jessie Alberta Silvernail Card

"Mother's receipt – 1928"



Makes 10 pounds of fruit cake





Who Is This Good Woman?

I know a sweet woman

Whose heart is pure gold,

She's the kind of woman

With whom I'd like to grow old.

I know that she loves me

With a love great and true,

Though the storm clouds may gather

Or the skies are bright blue.

Through great labor and pain

She gave me a son,

Of whom I'll be proud

When life's race is done.

Who is this good woman

With a heart of pure gold?

Who is this good woman

Whose love won't grow cold?

Who is this grand woman

With such great sparkling life?

I write this in tribute

To my dear beloved wife!

Wurzburg, Germany - 1953

Sergeant William F. Card

January 22, 1929 - February 19, 1993

Sweet Penelope

Out there somewhere beyond the sea,

Down where the clouds lie on the lea,

He found his sweet Penelope,

With buds of roses in her hair

And kisses on her mouth.

There is no sweet Penelope

Out there somewhere for me,

With buds of roses in her hair

And kisses on her mouth.

But I can hear the whispering lips

That fly before the outbound ships;

And I can hear the breakers

On the sands a-calling come.

This poem apparently is derived from the story [The Mucker] by Edgar Rice Burroughs. I have not yet read the whole story to see whether these verses are a compilation of lines from the story, or whether they are Dad's own work in imitation of Burroughs. It was of interest to me primarily because it was written in his own handwriting. (I am hoping that such samples can help me understand the hereditary factors involved in dysgraphia.)

© Copyright 1997 - James Card - Permission is granted for non-commercial use of all original material.

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