we were merry children, eyes of blue and hair of gold
We listened to
a story by a sweet-faced lady told;
Yes, in the twilight
of her life, when she was old and gray
We loved to hear
the story of Grandma's wedding day.
There was a lack
of bridal gifts - no gold and silver fine,
No jewels from
across the sea, upon her brow to shine;
A man in homespun
clothes stood up and gave the bride away -
For all was sweet
simplicity on Grandma's wedding day.
There was no surpliced
minister, no bell above them hung,
They stood upon
the forest sward - this couple fair and young:
And when the
parson called them one and wished them years of bliss,
The groom received
his only gift - a soft and holy kiss.
A cabin in the
forest stood to welcome home the pair,
And happy birds
among the trees made music on the air;
She was the reigning
backwoods belle - the bride so fair and gay -
And that is why
the birds were glad upon her wedding day.
Thus life began
for Grandma, in the forest dim and old,
And where she
lived a city stands, with stateliness untold:
She told us how
the Indian came the settler brave to fight,
And how she rocked
the cradle to the wolf's long howl at night.
The cradle was
an oaken trough, untrimmed with costly lace,
But in it nestled,
now and then, a bright, cherubic face;
And Grandma was
as happy then as though a mansion grand
Above her rose
like some we see throughout our lovely land.
I cherish now
a lock of hair - 'tis not of silver gray -
She clipped it
in the sunlight fair, though years have passed away;
It is a tress
of Grandma's hair, as bright as when she stood
took her bridal vows within the pathless wood.
On yonder hill,
this golden morn, she takes her dreamless rest;
hands, so often kissed, lie crossed upon her breast;
And gently on
her fingers, ere we laid her form away;
We placed the
simple ring she wore upon her wedding day.