Deborah Bachiler Poem

This poem was written by Mrs. Elizabeth Hoxie and read in 1903 when a bronze tablet was placed at the Sandwich home of Deborah (Bachiler) Wing. Deborah was the daughter of the Rev. Stephen Bachiler and the wife of Rev. John Wing. I have several lines of descent from Deborah's father so she is my 1oth or 11th great-grandaunt depending on the line. 

Long years ago in England,

When England yet was young,

Where the River Test flows softly,

Twixt banks of brightest green,

And Queen Elfrida's convent,

through the arching trees is seen.

Softly she sang her childish thoughts,         

As the daisies her small feet pressed;

Softly she touched the fragrant flowers,

Or watched the wild birds nest.

And this is the song the wee maid sang:

"There's never a day without a cloud

Or a joy without a sorrow:

And the sun that sets in the rain tonight

Will shine for me tomorrow."

The preacher prayed inside the church

For a conscience freed from sin,

While the little child in innocence

Caught the heavenly voice within--

"Father I stood by the river

just as the moon went down,

And it lighted the church of Wherewell

As if with a golden crown.

And Father, I saw a vision;

Dost thou think that children may?"

"And what was the vision daughter?

Tell it to me, pray."

Her dark eyes grew more earnest,

While steady and strong was she;

"I saw four boys and a woman

In a vessel upon the sea.

And she was sad and lonely;

And a man that looked like thee

Stood near; and there was sound of weeping,

And the woman looked like me."

"Didst see aught else, my daughter?"

And he thought of the threatening storm

Of church and state and conscience,

And his weary heart grew warm.

For might not his little maiden

Be chosen of God to warn

Benighted, priest ridden England

Of the rise of a brighter dawn?

Earnest and still that fair child stood,

As Deborah stood of old,

And God's grace shone upon her

While she her vision told.

It came again unto her,

The same foreshadowing truth;

And with a tiny hand extended,

She saw through the bounds of youth.

"Father, I see the vessel,

And many are there, who make

The air resound with prayers

For God and conscience sake."

Scarce eighteen summers now have come and gone,

With each clouds of sunshine on the way;

Life's story glimmers bright with youthful song,

And earnest hours have changed from foolish play.

The little child unto a maiden fair has grown;

A strong souled man has looked into her eyes,

And from her heart her girlhood's song has flown.

While in it's place thoughts strange and sweet arise

Across her sunny pathway

With young love's wooing came

Young John, the stalwart preacher,

With words of sweetest flame.

"Deborah, beloved maiden,

Thou art dear, and unto thee

Give I all my heart; now answer,

Givest thou thine to me?"

Deborah, the gentle maid,

With her eyes of dusky brown,

Answered softly, "John, I love thee"

With her fair face drooping down.

Think ye then that John the preacher

E'er remembered priestly gown,

With that sweet faced maid before him

With her hair of burnished brown?

Nay, for in his arms he gathered

Her love unto his heart;

"God do ill and more to me, love

If I fail to do my part."

Came there then no thought or vision?

Forgotten was the prophesy

Of the sad-eyed lonely woman

Out upon the stormy sea.

A few more years have come and gone

While joy and sadness into life have grown.

We see the blessings of the children five,

We hear the sadness of the widow's moan.

The vision given in the fleeting years long gone,

Seems nearing now it's strange, sad truth to prove.

the woman on the stormy sea forlorn,

In spirit hath no confines to her love.

Ah rare indeed that company

The Lord did send out that day!

Did the little ship The Francis

Sail calmly on it's way?

Sail, stately ship, more proudly;

Thy banners all unfurled;

Thou carry'st wondrous tidings

Unto an unknown world.

Oh, Shawme Lake, by Indians called, how fair!

We greet thee now, unknown to world and fame.

Oh Sandwich! Unto thee we give our love--

For in her longing heart she gave thee name.

Rev. Stephen Bachiler                                  Rev. Stephen Bachiler
Ann Bachiler                                                  Theodate Bachiler
John Sanborn                                                Hannah Hussey
Joseph Sanborn                                            Mary Smith
Mary Sanborn                                               Elisha Marston
Jeremiah Prescott                                        Mary Marston
Elisha Prescott                                             Hannah Prescott - Same as on left
Hannah Prescott - same as on right
Mary Edgecomb
Benjamin Perley Philbrick
Lizzie Philbrick
Ray Everett Cotton
Fern Lyndell Cotton - my grandmother

Rev. Stephen Bachiler
Nathaniel Bachiler
Nathaniel Bachiler
Abigail Bachiler
Elizabeth Dearborn
John Garland
Richard Garland
Alice Garland
Richard Hayes
Sydney Hayes
George Hayes
Eva Delphinia Hayes
Linona Alice Yates - my grandmother

Billy Boy - Traditional Folk Song

In honor of my grandmother, Fern Lyndell (Cotton) Carter, I submit this for Bill West's Sixth Annual Great Genealogy Poetry Challenge.  I can still hear her singing this song when I read the lyrics and see the smile on her face and the twinkle in her eye. She married young, at fifteen, and was a wonderful cook so I think this song spoke to her. She loved little children and her eyes twinkled most when she was with them. Here she is with my son, Josh. 



I found a folk singer, Ed McCurdy, with his rendition on Youtube for those who don't know the tune. 

Oh, where have you been,
Billy Boy, Billy Boy?
Oh, where have you been, Charming Billy?
I have been to seek a wife,
She's the joy of my life,
She's a young thing
And cannot leave her mother.

Did she ask you to come in,
Billy Boy, Billy Boy?
Did she ask you to come in, Charming Billy?
Yes, she asked me to come in,
There's a dimple in her chin.
She's a young thingAnd cannot leave her mother.

Can she make a cherry pie,
Billy Boy, Billy Boy?
Can she make a cherry pie, Charming Billy?
She can make a cherry pie,
Quick as a cat can wink an eye,
She's a young thing
And cannot leave her mother.

How old is she,
Billy Boy, Billy Boy?
How old is she, Charming Billy?
Three times six and four times seven,
Twenty-eight and eleven,
She's a young thing
And cannot leave her mother.

Fern Lyndell Cotton was born March 22, 1922 and died October 31, 2002. She is greatly missed by her children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren. 

Wikipedia http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Billy_Boy
http://kids.niehs.nih.gov/games/songs/childrens/billyboymp3.htm

Great Genealogy Poetry Challenge - Bethel Academy

Delivered at the Centennial Celebration at Bethel, August 26, 1874, by Jacob Brown, Esq. of Illinois

Bethel Academy
By barren rocks and deeply tangled wildwood,
Mid valley, lake and glen;

Here babyhood was cradled into childhood,
And boys grew into men.

Anear the corner of this quaint old building,
With windows all arow;
That sturdy and that stately growing elm-tree
Grew thirty years ago.

The Androscoggin still is flowing sea-ward,
As thirty years ago;
Oft down those gliding waters just at night-fall
I've paddled my canoe.

Westward winds that little silvery brooklet,
In tune to my poor rhyme;
Life's wreck-besprinkled waters still are surging,
Against the shores of time.

I look adown the lane from this old building,
Down to the dusty street;
But gone are all the bright familiar faces
Of those I used to meet.

And stricken dumb is my poor heart with sadness,
Bright boyhood's dreams are fled,
Flowers that bloomed by every wayside,
All are withered and dead.

Poor third soul! The dead may bury their dead.
As soldier brave in flight;
Conquer the red-hot battles of life and learn
To win and love the right.


Thanks to Bill West for hosting the Great Genealogy Poetry Challenge. Check out is his blog for more poems and genealogy at West in New England.

Centennial Hymn - Bethel, Maine

Celebrating the first 100 years of my hometown:
From Report on the Centennial Celebration at Bethel, August 26, 1874
Composed for the occasion by Geo. B. Farnsworth, Esq., to the tune of Old Hundred

Centennial Hymn
As, - when to Jacob it was given
To see, mid Eastern deserts lone, 
A ladder reaching up to Heaven
Along whose steps the angels shone, - 

He knew the Lord was, surely, there, 
And what had seemed but wilderness
Now God's own dwelling did appear, 
And "Beth-el," thence, he named the place:

So, when our fathers, eastward led, 
Chanced to this lovely vale to roam, 
Seeing its emerald floor outspread
And spanned by yonder crystal dome, 

Into whose depths the mountains soared
Like heavenly ladders angel-trod, 
They said, "Here, surely, dwells the Lord!"
And named their home the "House of God."

And here, from youth to age, they strove

Their goodly heritage to keep
For Freedom, Knowledge, Virtue, Love - 
Now in the dust all, silent sleep!

May we, their children, aye defend
The heritage they loved so well;
This heir-loom from the Past descend
To children's children, nobler still;

A place for homliest labors meet; 
Ever of manly worth the abode; 
And aye a place of worship sweet, - 
A temple high, - a "House of God!"

Dwell with us, Thou! And when the stone
Shall be, at eve, our resting-place
Heaven's ladder be to us let down, 
And may we see Thee, face to face!

Photos courtesy of the Bethel Area Chamber of Commerce.

On the Ledge by Lucy Larcom

ON THE LEDGE

Restored unto life by the sun and the breeze!

Rich balsams float down from the resinous trees, 

Stirring into quick health every pulse of the air;

Released once again from imprisoning care, 

At the gate of green pastures my soul lieth free,

And to go in or out is refreshment to me.

Lo, yonder is Paradise! Softly below, 

The river that watereth Eden doth flow!

I behold, through blue gaps in the mountainous west, 

Height ascending on height, the abodes of the blest;

And I cannot tell whether to climb were more sweet

Than to lap me in beauty spread out at my feet.

There sways a white cloud on yon loftiest peak, 

A wind from beyond it is fanning my cheek;

Through the oak and the birch glides a musical shiver, 

A ripple just silvers the dusk of the river.

-- Though I may not know how, each is part of the whole

Perfect flood-tide of peace that is brimming my soul.

Here is shelter and outlook, deep rest and wide room;

The pine woods behind, breathing balm out of gloom;

Before, the great hills over vast levels lean, --

A glory of purple, a splendor of green.

As a new earth and heaven, ye are mine once again.

Ye beautiful meadows and mountains of Maine!

Bethel, ME., September 1879.

Lucy Larcom was born in Beverly, Massachusetts in 1824. Her father died while she was young and her mother moved the family to Lowell. Starting at age 11, she worked in the textile mills of Lowell to help support her family. She started writing and her poems caught the attention of John Greenleaf Whittier. This poem describes the natural beauty of my hometown. Bethel is where all my lines converge and where my interest in family history began.

Thank you to cousin Bill West for hosting the Fourth Annual Genealogy Poetry Challenge. Check out his blog at westinnewengland.blogspot.com.

Sources:
http://books.google.com/books?id=Iq7TAAAAMAAJ&pg=PA86&lpg=PA86&dq=on+the+ledge+lucy+larcom&source=bl&ots=40Mn9arXQz&sig=5KrbHhyCM-3kz5ZNoudKrl8ufIM&hl=en&sa=X&ei=OAV-UJbLIZDU0gHH7oDIBA&ved=0CCAQ6AEwAA#v=onepage&q=on%20the%20ledge%20lucy%20larcom&f=false

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lucy_Larcom

http://www.bethelhistorical.org/Lucy_Larcom's_Bethel.html

Literary Connections

Thomas Philbrick testified against his neighbor, Eunice "Goody" Cole (age 36) when she was accused of witchcraft in 1656. The court solicited testimony from two dozen witnesses. Evidence of the occult included strange scrapings on houses, fierce cats appearing and disappearing, and a private conversation that was somehow known to the accused. The charges against her included the death of an infant girl, illness of a man and the destruction of domestic animals. Thomas Philbrick's testimony revolved around a statement by Goody Cole that if his calves ate any of her grass "she wished it might poysen them or choke them." He continued to say that he never saw one of his calves again and "the other calfe came home and died aboute a weeke after." (Dow, History of Hampton)


The year after Thomas Philbrick testified against Goody Cole, his son John, John's wife Ann (Knapp), their daughter Sarah and five others drowned when their sloop sank just outside the harbor as they headed to Boston. The town records state, "The sad hand of God upon eight psons goeing in a vessell by sea from Hampton to boston, who were all swallowed up in the ocean soon after they were out of the Harbour."  Given the superstitious nature of the community, the blame was placed on Goody Cole. This event became the inspiration John Greenleaf Whittier's poem, "The Wreck of the Rivermouth."

In 1680 when she was buried, the men of the town were frightened by her witchcraft conviction so they put a stake through her heart with a horseshoe hanging on the end. This was supposed to prevent the Devil from releasing her spirit to bewitch the community. 

The Rock in the Foreground Marks the Spot Where Poor Old "Goody" Was Reputed to Be Buried,
Impaled With a Stake. The Shack She Lived and Died in Stood About Where the Log Cabin Is.
The Historic Town Hall is Shown in Center Background 

Thomas Philbrick & Elizabeth Knapp
James Philbrick & Anna Roberts
James Philbrick & Hannah Perkins
Ebenezer Philbrick & Bethia Marston
Ruth Philbrick & Joshua Rand
Philemon Rand & Sarah Rand
Lazarus Rand & Elizabeth "Betsy" Clark  
Eunice Rand & Timothy Cox
Christiana Cox & John Cotton
Francis Llewellyn Cotton & Lizzie Philbrick
Ray Cotton & Annie Gibbs
Fern Lyndell Cotton


Second Line:
Lydia Rand (d. of Philemon) & John Lunt
Tryphenia Lunt & William Cotton 
John Cotton & Christiana Cox 


Sources:
http://www.hampton.lib.nh.us/hampton/biog/pooroldgoodycole.htm 
http://www.hampton.lib.nh.us/hampton/biog/goodydemos.htm