Thomas Jones Poem to His Mother

Married: 9 May 1816

Hartlebury, Worcestershire, England.rriag

1816 • Worcester, Worcestershire, En

LINES INSCRIBED TO MY MOTHER [Mary Trow Jones]

by Thomas Jones Dearest Mother thou that dwellest In a Cottage near the line Would to God I lived more near thee I could blend my Prayers with thine. O’er my days of youth and childhood Thou didst watch with tender care ‘Twas thy lips that first did teach me For to breathe my earliest prayer. Would to God I loved more near thee I could teach the words sublime Which are contained within the Gospel Revealed to man for the last time. Twenty years have gone and past us Since the Gospel I first heard But through all my cares and trouble, I ne’er forgot the precious word. Which I obeyed when it was taught me By a humble man of God Called and ordained to preach the Gospel Altho a tiller of the sod. ‘Tis the Gospel that was promised Should again be brought to man By an Angel from the heavens According as John’s vision ran. Then dearest Mother let me pray you To this message lend an ear And obey what has been taught you By your son who loves you dear. Never mind the scoffs or scandal Raised by people or the Priest Buckle on the Gospel Armor Come and join fair freedom’s feast. Thomas wrote this poem to his Mother who remained in England when he immigrated to America. Since she was baptized in the Endowment House by proxy after her death, she must not have joined the church during her lifetime. This poem was Thomas’ testimony to her. She died eight months after he arrived in Utah and may not have received this poem before her death.

"Grandfather Shadrach"

"Grandfather Shadrach", poem by Vilate R. McAllister.

 (This poem was given at the Roundy Family Reunion held July 22nd, 1947 in Salt Lake City)

Grandfather Shadrach One hundred years have rolled away,
Grandfather Shadrach, since that day
That you and the members of that brave band
First set your feet on this barren land.
You came in advance of Brigham Young.‘‘ere that famous phrase had rolled from his tongue,
And we learn you engaged in a plowing race!
How did you know “This was the place?”
How did you feel, when you first beheld
This desert valley, all sagebrush-filled?
And stretching out there in the summer sun, without even a tree-oh yes, just one!
Did it look like a haven, a promised land?
Did it fit with the future that you had planned for your sons and daughters, and theirs sons, too?
Or did that desolation that met your view,
Shake for a moment your new-found faith
In the Prophet you’d guarded before his death?
In the gospel message that you had heard?
In the leader, Brigham’s promised word?
I look in the eyes of your pictured face,
At the character lines that the wrinkles trace,
And I see there a vision and depth of soul
That could see past these things to a farther goal.
Courage and faith are written there,
And determination, and power to share
In the labor and hardships that must be made.
And I’m sure you were dauntless and unafraid.
They recognized your sterling worth,
Those leaders who gave our gospel birth:
Aid to the prophet, his body-guard, friend, he gave you his trust to the very end.
And proven and tried, Brigham honored you, too,
With responsibilities placed on you.
Captain of fifty, high council-man,
A leader among your fellowman,
A leader, a servant, a friend to all,
With valiance and courage you answered each call,
You plowed and planted, and builded and schemed,
And you served your fellows, and you prayed, and dreamed,
And you conquered the desert with sweat and toil,
And an Eden sprang from the barren soil
An Eden that most of us now call home,
And that beckons us back, where’er we may roam.
Grandfather Shadrach, could you be near,
And see your posterity gathered here,
As you looked us over, how would you feel?
I can’t help but wonder what thoughts would steal
Into your mind. Would you feel a joy
As you looked at each person, each girl and boy,
Each man and woman that are your seed?
I think you would. You’d rejoice, indeed,
To see this assemblage gathered here, To honor you, and your name revere.
And perhaps you’d say, “here is my reward
For my years of labor and toil so hard,
For my faith and courage, and vision true.”
Yes, Grandfather Shadrach, I think that you
Would be proud of us, as we are of you.

by Vilate R. McAllister

[Boxes full of family history are such a blessing. This poem was among my grandmother Laura's things, long lost in a basement. She died in 1970 and I found the box in about 1997, ten years after her son my father had died. My mother said I could have it if I was interested. This box has been a great blessing to me and my family history. Lark]

"Herb and Amy Parents of the Whole Shebang"

5th child - Frank Jones HAWKES
spouse 1- Grace STAR d.9 Jan 1958 /
spouse 2- Minnie Ann NIELSON COX m.17 Jun 1959

[Herb and Amy Parents of the Whole Shebang]
(Written and sung for a family reunion - to the tune of “Davy Crockett” - by Frank and his wife Grace.)

Sarah Amy Jones was a very pretty girl,
Herbert Henry Hawkes thought that she was a pearl,
They fell in love in Logan Town,
And now their sons & daughters are the jewels of their Crown.
Herbert:- Herb and Amy, parents of the whole shebang.

First came Ella with her hair of gold,
And to hear her tell it she still ain’t very old.
Then came Kate, a cute brunette,
The scholar of the family and the teachers pet.
Ella: Kate and Ella first of the whole shebang.

Born in Pocatello was Herbert lad,
The first boy in the family so they named him for his Dad.
Then came Eva with her [smile] so sweet,
And exactly two years later the family I (Frank) did greet.
Herbert: Frank and Eva Three of the whole shebang.

Then came a lad that we laid to rest,
Joseph Jones, and He’d probably been the best.
Think of him often and let your children know.
That the sixth of the family was a boy named Joe.
Joseph: Jospeh Jones, sixth of the whole shebang.

Then came Ethel and she brought much joy.
Then came Lorin a tow-headed boy.
When these two were safely on shore
Everyone said there won’t be any more.
Ethel: Ethel and Lorin, winding up the whole shebang.

But the best of calculations can sometimes be
Wrong as the dickens in this land of the free
For seven years later when the kids were nearly raised
Along came Blayne and the the Saints be praised!
Blayne: Blayne J. Hawkes- Baby of the whole shebang.

Now this is quite a heritage for them first two
They had nine children before they were through,
Brought em all up Proper- to fear the Lord.
So lets all pull a little tighter on the family cord-- For
Herbert: Herb and Amy, Parents of the whole shebang.

Happy Mother's Day for Wanda

M is for macaroni with the salmon patties
O is for ornery attitude
T is for the tinsel, banned from Christmas trees
H is for Hostess Twinkie food
E is for the eclairs, never had none
R is for real imitation fake fur coat


Put them all together they spell "Mother"
I hope that she'll appreciate this note.
For Mothers Day has rolled around once more now
And once again I type some feeble verse
I substitute these rhymes for gifts and presents
Count your blessing Mom, it could have been much worse.
I could have sent the George Foreman Lean Mean Fat Fighting Grilling Machine
Or some phony flowers purchased from the store,
Or maybe a plastic three piece animated Last Supper Clock
But this act of love is really worth much more.
These lines are wrested from my mind and heart now
My eyes, if I were crying, would be damp.
And the thing required most for this fine tribute
Just a thrity-three and, first class postage stamp.
The first part of this poem spelled out mother
The second part is something more obscure.
Put them all toghether they spell "FAICIOOBTMAJ"
(Maybe it will mean something to her)

Happy Mothers Day from your loving son.
MRR (2000)

MYSELF

Mr. WOOD

My father taught his own children with poetry. I'm sure his hundreds of students all heard his poetic lessons too. He never went anyplace without a book to read or a card in his pocket with a gem to memorize. He would recite poems with moral messages to his children when ever there was a need or a teaching moment. As a teenager I would pretend not to listen. Once as an adult I quoted to him, one of his poems. He was so glad to hear it. He said with much pleasure "You were listening." One of his favorites or is it my favorite?

MYSELF by Edgar A. Guest

I have to live with myself, and so I want to be fit for myself to know, I want to be able, as days go by, Always to look myself straight in the eye; I don't want to stand, with the setting sun, And hate myself for the things I have done. I don't want to keep on a closet shelf A lot of secrets about myself, And fool myself, as I come and go, Into thinking that nobody else will know The kind of a man I really am; I don't want to dress up myself in sham. I want to go out with my head erect, I want to deserve all men's respect; But here in the struggle for fame and pelf I want to be able to like myself. I don't want to look at myself and know That I'm bluster and bluff and empty show. I can never hide myself from me; I see what others may never see; I know what others may never know, I never can fool myself, and so, Whatever happens, I want to be Self-respecting and conscience free.

Mr. Wood's 5th grade class, 1952 - Monroe School, Granger, Utah Kirt D. WOOD taught for 30 years. The first couple years were at Monroe in the 5th grade. Then many years in Granger Elementary's 6th grade. When the Principal Mr. Holmes moved to Twin Peaks Elementary, Mr. Wood followed him there.