Now lemme tell y'somethin'.

I realize that it's cool to have these writings from my dear ancestors, even such as they are. So don't think I'm being disrespectful. But I have had trouble with some more recent ancestors. They just didn't love me enough. Instead of being "our SPECIAL girl," I was "the CRAZY one." They coulda been kinder.

So could I, I suppose.

Well I have no idea what my great-greats woulda thought of me. I can't spend too much time worrying about it. I have no idea what happens after we die. I don't have the exclusive videotape footage of the interview with God. If you do, would you please share it on Facebook.

'Beth your faiths just not strong enough."

Oh person with flapping mouth, whatever you are, your punctuation SUCKS, and you don't know how to use an apostrophe. If it would keep you out of HELL ITSELF, you still wouldn't care to know.

Well this next old thing is just about as dreary as William Cullen Bryant's "Thanatopsis," to give you a small hint.

A TRIBUTE.

--To--

Mr. and Mrs. Tom Rutherford

Our True Friends.

--By--

The Rev. James H. B. Hall,

Mrs. Emma Gardner Hall,

"Cahaba Hills Eyrie,"

Acton, Alabama.

---o-o---

September 19, 1912.

Inscription.

Dear Friends:--

This little tribute is lovingly inscribed to you. It is inspired by the golden chain of happy years which has more and more firmly bound us in friendship.

It comes from our hearts to your home that it may represent them there ever dwelling with you.

Accept it as a poor expression of our rich regard and constant wish for your every possible happy hour here and the fadeless joys of the Blessed Yonder.

--The Authors.

(Now here I'm not really sure, as the "Inscription" is typed in another typeface on another size of paper; I don't know if the Tribute is the poem that follows, or something else. But I'm putting them together, just because.)

THE SACRIFICE--Part One

Brilliant spires from a radiant star shot forth,

They fled to every sun and world in space;

To lowly planet, dark with sun-hid face;

To meteor wandering as restless spirit lost

In expanse opaque, where redemption cometh not,

Distant far the rifting spires sped

To every dark crevasse,--to God all known,--

Of moon-encircled world, speeding, coldly white,

As flashes, meet orbits, silence pervades,

While message bright from Him, King Of Universe,

With reverent awe, with wonder all enthroned,

They whispered each to each--"Hear majestic call,

High Heaven proclaim to His creatures all;

'Tis the voice of Majesty, Pitying Love;

'Tis ever heard through space as great event

Is pending to shake the universe, intent."

Lo! the message far proclaimed was this:

"The Sacrifice!" A deathful silence reigned.

The moons, the stars, in sorrow bowed, wept,

Regret, wonder at the sacrifice so great.

In awesome tone, the voice the silence cleft:

Attentive all in bounds to space remote:

"The Prince of Heaven seeks to bring back His own,

Who wander far from chosen path of Heaven."

"Must it be?", with protest cried they all:

A sacrifice so great! Oh Holy One!

Jehovah, Great Ruler of the Universe,

That one small part of Thy creation need

Our Prince, Thy Holy One, O Sacrifice Great!"

Then murmur rose of sorrow and dissent,

And hush of silence fell as with accord,

One spoke, the Son, voice sweet, majestic:

"Seraphs, angels, creations of My Father's hand;

My Father sendeth not, nor doth demand

The sacrifice: 'Tis My choice; He permits."

Then all the harps and viols by seraphs played

Broke forth in praise; creation, all amaze,

Joined in hallelujahs to the pitying Son,

Chose sacrifice of His own will divine,

His place by His Father's, Jehovah, Lord,

The wandering lost to save of His creation:

Scintillated the flashing spires--"His Will!"

Creation bowed--acquiesced in grand--"Amen!"

(The Sacrifice--Part Two.)

HEAVEN'S MESSENGERS

'Twas night, and o'er Judean Hills

The dark was tense, the stars seemed still;

The drowsy shepherds sat content

In low converse, all intent

On duty to the folded flock,

Lest lurking enemy should mock

His care, should slip to steal away

A lamb or sheep almost astray.

Could they the mystic Book unveil?

Would prophecies of old prevail?

Redemption come as ancients said?

Would come a King, with none afraid?

In generations patient still,

Waiting yet for "His Good Will?"

Look! Spreading o'er hill and valley low,

A brilliant, soft, celestial glow.

Stars, diamond-dimmed, above the blue,

Turning the dark to golden hue,

Glowing all ether, near and far,

Heaven's gleaming gates seemed standing ajar:

Music of angels came sweet and low,

Stealing a-down to earth aglow:

Nearer, sweeter came the strain,

From the battlements of Heaven again,

Until there burst a visioned shore

Of Heaven's land which ne'er before

Was seen; then pealed a song

For which the earth had listened long,

Singing, a mighty host, the glad refrain,

The tidings great for mankind again,

The glad, sweet song of "Glory to God

In the Highest," Redemption's Lord.

Hath come, Peace and Good Will to men;

Heaven's promise is fulfilled. Amen.

In trembling fear the shepherds saw

The glory of "The Host" in awe,

Wonder, when thus the angel said:

"Ye men of Bethlehem, so sore afraid,

Fear not, for, behold to you I bring

Good tidings of great joy of Heaven's King.

The joy shall be to creatures all,

Aye greater than since Adam's fall,

For unto you is born, this day,

In David's city--not far away--

A Savior who is Christ the Lord--

Incarnation of His Holy Word. This a sign to you shall be,

In Bethlehem, low manger, too,

In swaddling clothes, ye shall find

A babe enwrapped--O mercy kind--

God's Holy Son, come from on high

To save the world--yea, God is nigh."

While around the angels the glorious light

Cleft the opaqueness of the night:

Coruscating waves from spheres of light,

Iridescent, roseate and white,

Flashed till the flock, awe inspired,

Prostrate themselves as if desired

To know the glad news, to rejoice

With Heaven-born ones--'twas The Son's choice--

Saith not His Word for every thing to praise?

Can not dumb creatures praiseful eyes upraise?--

While paused creation--near, remote,--

While star-realms seemed with eyes devote?

Again to golden-gated space--

Adoring hosts waft through the space--

To vistas of celestial light,

While still the gladful song of night

Pealed on in sweet, celestial tone,

Whose tones once moe leave the world alone,

But echo--re-echo, ever yet--

A-down the years--O sweet regret!

Wakened as from some mystic dreams,

The shepherds rose, while yet soft gleams

From above, still in the ether glow;

While fleeter, fainter music low

Resounded still through lambent air,

The light o'er nature, soft and rare,

Each to each spoke they in joy--

With blending awe of Heaven's enjoy.

Each to all, in unison said,

"Come, let's go, while we're angel-led,

To Bethlehem, see this great thing

This Holy Babe the angels' tidings bring.

Wist not Our Gracious Lord loves much,

To send His Heralds to lowly, such

As we, while many in the wide

Universe would know but are denied."

In faith and eager haste they went

To see the Kingly Babe by Heaven lent.

Their hearts all praise, but wondering long

Of Heaven's Host and glory song,

They, in the manger, saw the Holy One--

The Babe--in swaddling clothes--God's Son.

They lowly knelt in joyful praise,

Adoring-hearts, prayer-eyes, upraised:

Praised for the Babe in manger lying,

Knew that the earth for love was dying,

While silent mother kept all the things--

All message brought on angel wings--

Deep-pondering in her heart them all,

The words and why the angel call;

The wise men's gifts, who worshipped low,

The Babe, rich treasures to bestow.

Returned, the shepherds uplooked above

Far to the sky, still radiant with love;

Faint echoes lingered through the night,

Opalescent gleams of Heaven's light,

The "Glory to God," --song of joy--

"In the Highest" --praise to Eloi--

"Peace and good will to men" --for love,

The Christ hath come from Home above.

Thus was all prophecy fulfilled,

As God saw and with His Son willed,

"The Sacrifice," hailed to remotest star,

The echo resounding from worlds afar,

From distance in vast lonely space,

While rapt creation bowed her face,

In holy reverence, echoed--"'Tis well;"

The transaction's done--"All's Well!"

(The Sacrifice--Part Three.)

THE VISION OF LIFE

Setting o'er valley and hill the sun

Placed another bright day-jewel, won,

In his studded crown of a century's days,

Scintillating with a million rays,

Its soft beams akin to celestial light,--

Was bidding earth's toilers a sweet goodnight.

Its warm rays quickened my weary brain,

Bringing in thought, an innumerable train;

Sending a strain of sweet music low,

Stealing all sense of the earth below:

Of the two paths I had been pondering long;

Which was the right, which was the wrong.

On my journey of life, short had been the years,

I knew not of sorrow, of duty, or tears.

While sitting in silence, the vision came,

Showing of duty, of pleasure the same.

I was a wanderer wandering alone,

Near to a river with its sombrous moan.

Hushed the dull thud of my restless feet,

Bordering close where the high waves beat,

Near where the treacherous quicksands sink,

While spray was dashing o'er the river's brink.

Over the world I would wnder wide,

Going the way by the river's side;

Seeking no hand to carefully guide,

Still ever hearing the seething tide,

For its rushing waters far had spread,

All avoided, with fear and dread,

For he who crosses to its farther shore,

Its waters cross e'en forevermore.

As close I walked by the river's brink,

My feet e'er touched where quicksands sink.

I seeking to cross the dark waters o'er,--

The way that led to the farther shore,--

I came to an arched gate, opened wide,

A path leading through to the surging tide.

Over the gate, in letters of gold,

Were written these words, shining and bold:

"This is the way o'er the river wild--

The way of peace to Earth's trusting child;

But all who go by the way of the gate,

The Guiding Hand seek ere it be too late."

I paused, wondering; to myself I said--

"The Guiding Hand. Which others has led?"

The way that is broad is the way I know,

For I see no "guiding hand" to show

The road that leads to a better way;

I'll come here again another day:

But, close to my side, a whisper low,

"Choose you this day which way you'll go."

For ere shall fade the day's sweet light,

You may cross over the river of night.

"If you will follow my footsteps near,

The end you shall know, --nay, do not fear,--

Of all who travel the broad way wide,

Leading close by the treacherous tide."

I followed, the road led far beside

The waters, so fierce, so wild, so wide.

The road with pitfalls--stones high-piled--

Till, weary, I cried to the Master mild.

Hark! What is't in the distance I hear?

The sound of shriek, of groan, of tear;

The sound of ribaldry, revel song;

The sound of the tread of a mighty throng;

The sound of music, of dancing feet;

The wine glass's tinkle when in caress they meet.

We drew near to the city's high gate,

The inscription above--"The Gate of Fate"--

Opened near where seething waters sank

Into a gulf, deep, dark, and dank,

Where clouds of spray ever mounted high,

Hiding the awful precipice nigh.

I looked and over the gate I read,

Written in letters of fiery red;

Written with blood of innocence shed;

With blood of bride and groom, new-wed:

Beyond, ensnared, over the way so wild,

Enticed, dragged, the innocent child.

And others I saw. Oh! listen ye well,

For the dread, true words a story will tell:

'Tis one of sin, death, shame and wrong--

Of slaughtered lives, hearts bleeding long,

Who were enticed the broad way wide,

Now lost in the seething, foaming tide

Ah, yes! The words, fiery, glittering red:

This is the city of living souls, dead.

The road leading here, a road of dread,

The road passed over by ones sin led,

Have come and stayed till o'er the brink

They madly rush and fearfully sink

Into the gulf's deep blackness below--

In its seething waters of fearful roar,

With a million of demons to welcome o'er,

To their eternal home beyond life's shore.--

Shuddering, I placed my hands o'er my eyes,

Murmuring to self--"Who is it that's wise?

Who are the souls living, but dead,

Who've gone to a home of such dire dread?"

Close to my ear, a voice sweet and low,

Answered the question I longed to know:

"These, the scorners of 'The Thorn-crowned One,'

Scorned the Father, the Spirit, the Son;

Scorned the Book telling of the riven side;

Scorned the Hand held but for their guide."

Kneeling, I cried--Thou art the Master, oh, so mild!

Show all things to Thy erring child.

See, o'er yon hills the sun sinking fast,

The angry clouds dark, all earth all overcast,

A tempest is rising far to the west!

O, Master! show me the way that is best,

For to-day I may pass over the river cold.

Art Thou the one my hand Who wilt hold?

Show me the path to the wayside gate.

Oh haste! dear Master, ere it be too late!--

His word came, gentle, assuring, mild,

Soothing all of my fears so wild:

"I am the Way," follow Me; I will show;

Leave all the sin; yea, and we go;

The way I will lead to Our Father of Light,--

The beautiful way, eternally bright,--

For I am in the Father, the Father in Me;

The Spirit, the Comforter, will dwell with thee.--

But look ye behind; behold ye shall see

The end of all who follow not Me.

I looked and lo! a black, mighty cloud

Enveloped the city--a vast sable shroud

Enshrouded the souls, living but dead,

Who were by sin o'er the broad road led.

The cloud, with terrible rush and roar,

Swept on till it covered the vast city o'er,

A maelstrom so mighty, I covered my eyes,

Murmured--"O Master, who is it that's wise?"

Woe's me that ever I should have thought to go

To the "City of Souls, Dead," here below.

I looked again--heard the shriek and wail:

But a cloud now crested hill and vale--

Shut from my sight, then, with mighty sweep,

The city was cast o'er the precipice deep--

With laugh of demon, with shriek of soul,

To unknown shores, to eternities untold.

There came a voice from Heaven's throne,

Afar, above, celestial light shone:

"Destruction to all who obey not My laws;

They who scorn My Word, Heaven's favors withdraws."

Again a touch, gentle, kindly, soft,

A touch, it seemed, I had felt so oft.

"Come, follow," He said: "the sun sinketh low;

Beyond the hills of life 'twill quickly go."

Swiftly I followed the way along,

His hand clasping mine, oh so strong!

A sweet peace filling all of my soul,

I heard the swish of the waters that roll.

Beautiful flowers sprang 'round my feet,

Filling the air with odors so sweet,

While music sang--as of singing birds--

In my soul, as I list to His gracious words.

My heart, now created so tender and new,--

He guiding, so lovingly, gentle and true.

When the way grew rough and dark and wild,

He stooped and whispered--"I am here, My child."

As nearer we drew to the wayside gate,

The sun was sinking, the hour was late,

The waters were raving, fierce and high,

With rush and roar, swish and sigh.

I shuddered, I cried--O Master Divine,

I'm lost! Please, keep my hand in Thine!

His sweet, gentle voice, all soothing, said:

"Peace, child, it is I, be not afraid."

"O Master, but chill winds over me blow;

The way seems dark--one I do not know."

The h and pressed closer still o'er mine;

"I trust Thee; I feel Thy peace divine."

The gate we had left we came again near.

I trusted the leading Hand without fear.

Came a flood of light through the fragrant air,

There, standing beside me in kingly wear,

Jesus, my Savior, Heaven's honored One;

Beside Him I, with earth's victories won.--

Had vanished, at the steps of my Savior mild,

The river so fierce, with waters so wild:

In its place was only a little brook--

In my King's hand the Great Holy Book.

Across the brook was Heaven's land;

There, Christ did lead me to Heavenly Strand.

The vision vanished; I alone. Was it a dream

That Christ unveiled of the heavenly gleam

Of the life to come--even for every one?

Aye; trust all to Father, Spirit and Son,

For does not Heaven, yea, ever rejoice,

O'er one sinner with hosanna voice?

Now this message I can ever tell

To the one whom Christ seeketh: "All's well."

If ye trust at His call, the guiding Hand,

He'll lead over the brook to His dear "Home-Land."

He will call for me some day I know;--

First, though, I'd like many to show

The beautiful way to Christ's leading Hand,

The way of trust to His eternity land.

His "Sacrifice" aye, evermore,

Will give entrance to His Home for evermore.

--Emma Gardner Hall and James Hugh Blair Hall, my maternal great-great-grandparents.