I dream not of that lonely grave in France
Wherein your battle wearied frame finds rest.
I know you found the sweetness of God's glance
The day he called your brave soul West.
I cannot think your race is wholly run
Tho' dark as night, the intervening veils
Somewhere beyond the setting sun,
Your valiant barque still sails.
I cannot look into your pictured face
And think of you as lying still and cold.
Rather, I see you wiser grown in grace,
Courageous as of old.
I think of you, as in some other sphere
Rounding your talents in some task divine,
Loving the ones you left behind you here,
Ever growing, through love more fine.
Just as you are, with loyal heart, and true
Waiting my coming, tho' the years seem slow,
Praying for our eternal rendezvous,
Nearer than we may know.
Nancy Jane Wiley Hill (1875-1960) was always writing something. Many of those poems are now in the possession of her granddaughter Shirley Kern. Shirley, with the help of her sister-in-law Ruth Ormsby, transcribed these poems in 1996 for a Hill-Ormsby-Kern family reunion. I am going to post many of these poems so that they may be enjoyed by all.
These are copyright 1996 and reprinted with permission.