I have been so blessed the past few weeks to be able to get a better glimpse into the lives of some of my anscestors. My mom and I came up with an idea that we wanted to make a "Bailey" family cookbook, including recipies from my grandmother, her mother, my grandfather's mom, cousins, etc, and bring it all together in one book for everyone to have a copy. We have been going through multiple family albums, recipe books, etc in the past little while, and it has been such an amazing experience for me. A beautiful look at some of my anscestors lives, their triumphs and low points, marriages and births, etc. I feel so blessed to have so much information at my finger tips. Just today, mom and I found some poems that my great-grandmother had written during her lifetime. I had no idea that she had written anything at all, let alone beautiful works of poetry, and stories of her life during the Great Depression and WWII. I had to share this poem that she wrote...we are not sure the exact date of when it was written, but are assuming in the 1950's sometime. It is a beautiful work of art, that I felt needed to be shared. It is entitled "Love's Triumph".
Night-- and the only light,
The rays of the crescent moon;
A bare-foot lad on a lonely street,
Whistling a well known tune.
Softly he passed by the darkened huts,
On to the Court beyond;
Felt secure in this squallid part
Of the City to which he belonged.
He reached the Court and sought a place
On a low, ricketty seat,
That rested against a damp, brick wall,
Shut off from the dingy street.
And here in this squallid quarter,
He fell into a deep, calm sleep;
He dreamed a dream of Angels,
Traversing a golden street.
They beckoned him on, and he followed,
Rejoicing at each new sight;
Twas like the Piper piping his tune,
Calling first to the left, then to right.
He followed the host of Angels,
On past the Castles rich;
They paused before two stately dwellings,
The Leader turned, and said "which?"
Written in jewelled letters,
Over the Mansion door,
Were the words "Love" and "Riches,"
Twas a wonderful chance for the Poor.
"Which?" repeated the Angel,
Twas now for the lad to choose,
"Riches" and "Love" in the balance, -
Would "Love" win, or would it lose?
The lad glanced at each dwelling,
"Riches" was more splended by far,
But "Love" had a homely appearance,
The door was a little ajar.
It seemed to welcome him, -calling--
"Love" won, and the boy went in;
By the door he paused to read the words
"Love overcometh all sin."
The leader of the Angels
Paused out, and closed the door;
The little lad was fast in "Love"
And from "Love" would depart no more.
Then when the tiny sunbeams,
Found their way to that filthy court,
They danced around his little form--
His Soul was safe in Port.
Left all alone in this old world,
He had worked and struggled along,
Hungry and weary he trudged around,
Still in his heart a song.
Cold, and lack of nourishment,
Soon told on his weakly form,
God called him Home, for best He knew,
He Ne'er could weather the storm.
'Tis but the story of one lad,
But many there are in this land,
Who need the kind word we can give them,
So lend a helping hand.
Remember the words of the Master,
'Tis a sacred, holy, plea,
"For as much as Ye have done it unto the least of these my brethren,
Ye have done it unto Me."
My great-grandmother, Alice Cooper Bailey 1904-1982
