August 3rd, 1938:
The Old House On The Hill
Theres an old house on a hillside
Which is very dear to me;
For it takes me back to childhood
And the days that used to be.
Every nook and every corner
Are enshrined within my heart;
And retentive in my memory
Those whose lives it formed a part.
Years have passed and all have left it
For a home beyond its walls;
But the happy days of childhood
Never go beyond recall.
Every chair and every picture
Clearly do my memory fill;
Each one bringing recollections
Of an old house on a hill.
There a quaint old-fashioned garden,
Daffodils and columbine,
Bleeding hearts and honeysuckle,
And a morning-glory vine
Twining there amongst the roses
In that garden I can see;
Time cannot erase the vision
Which at even comes to me.
I can see again the orchard
Where our pockets we would fill;
Seated there among the branches
Of the old trees on the hill.
While our lessons oft we studied
Just before the close of day;
How it all comes back so clearly,
Might have been but yesterday.
'Twin two giant Balm of Gileads
There a swing each child would
While their gay and youthful voices
Rang out on the evening air.
For the children all were welcome,
Had a part in good or ill,
In the childish pranks we practiced
In that old house on the hill.
Windswept house upon the hillside
You are just as dear to me,
When as children we would gather
Eventide at Mothers knee.
Then I heard her voice so gentle,
Teaching us a childish prayer;
Years can never dim the memory,
I still see her kneeling there.
That old house has long been silent
To the voice of loved ones gone,
But to me has grown much dearer
As the years keep hastening on.
Oft in fancy voices thrill me
As they did in days of yore,
And I seem to hear her footsteps
Treading that old kitchen floor.
See her there with love performing,
Every homely, daily task,
Which to Motherhood is given,
Thinking not of more to ask;
Thankful for the simple blessings
Which she shared from day to day,
Was a lesson that she taught us,
Ere that Mother passed away.
Windswept house upon a hillside
And the life you formed a part
Are among my dearest treasures
Safely locked within my heart.
Memories of happy childhood
Coming ever at their will,
Binding me a little closer
To an old house on a hill.
Alma Scott MacMellon.
Yarmouth, N. S.