WEBVTT

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One more, and this is
one of my favorite poems.

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It's called, "Little
Libby," and it's

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by Julia A. Moore, who was
the "Sweet Singer of Michigan"

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in the 19th century.

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I think she wrote
most of her poems

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for the Benton Harbor Gazette,
and it's a very moving poem.

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I think you will agree.

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"Little Libby."

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"One more little
spirit to Heaven

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has flown, to dwell
in that mansion above,

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where dear little
angels, together roam,

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in God's everlasting love.

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One little flower has
withered and died,

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a bud near ready to
bloom, its life on Earth

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is marked with pride; oh,
sad it should die so soon.

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Sweet little Libby
that precious flower

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was a pride in
her parents' home,

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they miss their little
girl every hour--"

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And every is in
italics by the way.

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"--every hour, those friends
that are left to mourn.

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Her sweet silvery
voice no more is

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heard in the home where once she
roamed; her place is vacant--"

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Again in italics.

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"--vacant around the hearth,
where her friends are mourning

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lone.

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They are mourning the
loss of a little girl,

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with black eyes and
auburn hair, she

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was a treasure to
them in this world,

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this beautiful child so fair.

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One morning in
April, a short time

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ago, Libby was active
and gay; her Savior

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called her, she had to go, e're
the close of that pleasant day.

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While eating dinner,
this dear little child

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was choked on a piece of beef.

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Doctors came, tried
their skill awhile,

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but none could give relief."

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I get the image of Libby spread
out on the dining room table

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with a stream of doctors
coming in, one after the other

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and poking around in her throat,
and shaking their heads, maybe.

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"She was ten years
of age, I am told,

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and in school stood very high.

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Her little form now the
earth enfolds, in her embrace

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it must ever lie."

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Figure that metaphor out.

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"Her friends and
schoolmates will not

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forget Little Libby
that is no more;

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she is waiting on
the shining step,

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to welcome home
friends once more."

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[CHUCKLING] I can never read
that poem without tears.

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