Untitled
HOME     INTRODUCTION     TRICE FAMILY TREE     CONTENTS     GALE HILL     WHO'S WHO?     MAPS     Family Doc List

Excerpts from Lucy Lee Trice's Journal

Lucy L. Trice
Begun October 1882

"Our lives are Albums written through with good or ill, with false or true. And when the blessed angels turn the pages of our years, God grant that they may read the good with smiles. And blot the ill with tears."

"Ships that pass in the night and speak each other in passing; only a signal shown, and a distant voice in the darkness; so on the ocean, we pass and speak one another; only a look and a voice then darkness again and a silence."

"Tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all."
-In Memoriam-

"And softly her fingers wandered o'er
The yielding planks of the ivory floor.
B. Taylor

"More things are wrought by prayer
    Than this world dreams of,
Wherefore let thy voice rise
    Like a fountain for me night and day,
For what are men better
    Than sheep or goats,
That nourish a blind life
    Within the brain,
If knowing God,
    They lift not hands in prayer
Both for themselves
    And those who call them friends,
For so the whole round earth
    Is every way
Bound by golden chains
    About the feet of God."
Morte d'Arthur

"The Godhead in us wrings our nobler deeds from our reluctant selves."

"Knowledge by suffering entereth, and Life is perfected by death."
Vision of Poets - Elizabeth Barrett Browning

"Life like a dome of many coloured glass stains the white radiance of eternity."
Percy Bysshe Shelley

"To bear is to conquer our fate."
Campbell

February 17, 18876
 (11th anniversary of Lucy Jane Minor's death in 1876 - ed.)

"I call the old time back,
I bring on a tender memory
    Of the summer day,
Where our native river lapsed away.
We dreamed it over while the thrushes
    Made songs of their own,
And the great pine trees laid
    On warm moonlights
The masses of their shade,
And she was with us
    Living o'er again;
Her life is ours
    In spite of tears and pain,
The autumn brightness
    After latter rain,
Beautiful in her holy peace as one
    Who stands at evening
    When the work is done,
Glorified in the setting of the sun. Her memory makes
    Our common lands safe seem,
Finer than any
    Of which painters dream,
Lights the brown hills
    And sings in every stream.
For she whose speech
    Was always truth's pure gold
Heard not unpleased
    The simple legends told
And loved with us
    The beautiful and old."

Jean Ingelow

"To a close shorn sheep God gives wind by measure."
Henick

"Alone! That worn out word, so icily spoken and so coldly heard. Yet all that Poets sing and grief has known of hopes laid waste, knells in that word alone!"
The New Timon - Edward Bulwer

"Procrastination is the thief of time."
Young

"Men are but children of a larger growth."
Dryden

"See habits gather by unseen degrees.
As brooks make rivers, rivers turn to seas."
Dryden

"Society is made up of one polished horde, formed of two mighty tribes, the boring and the bored."
Byron

"Like the stained web that whitens in the sun, grow white by being purely shone upon."
Moore

"Oh! Many a shaft at random sent finds mark the archer little meant,
And many a word at random spoken, may soothe or wound a heart that's broken."
Scott

"No matter how barren the past may have been,
'Tis enough for us now that the leaves are green."
Lowell

"Coming events cast their shadows before."
Campbell

"Yes, those days are now forgotten,
    God be thanked! Men can forget.
Time's great gift can heal the fevers,
    Called Remembrance and Regret,
Man despised such forgetting.
    But I think the Angels know,
Twice each hour brings new burdens,
    We must let the old ones go.
Very weak or very noble,
    Are the few who cling to woe."
Millie's Expiation - Adelaide Proctor

"Our tokens of love are for the most part barbarous, cold and lifeless, because they do not represent our life. The only gift is a portion of thyself. Therefore, let the farmer give his corn, the miner, a gem, the sailor coral and shells, the painter, his picture, and the poet, his poem."
Ralph Waldo Emerson

"Night drew her sable curtain down and pinned it with a star."
McDonald Clarke

"Day hath put on his jacket and round his burning bosom buttoned it with stars."
0. W. Holmes

"Why should we faint and fear to live alone?
     Since all alone, so God has willed we die,
Nor e'en the tenderest heart and next our own,
    Knows half the reasons why we smile or sigh."
Keble

"No sects in Heaven."
Mrs. Cleveland

"'Dear God', she cried, 'and must we see all blissful things depart from us ere we go to Thee?
We cannot guess Thee in the word or hear Thee in the wind?
Our cedars must fall around us, ere we see the lights behind?'
Ay sooth, we feel too strong in weal, to need Thee on that road.
But woe being come, the soul is dumb, that crieth not on God."
Remnant of the Page - Mrs. Browning

COLD IN THE EARTH

Cold in the earth,
    The deep snows piled above thee,
Far far removed,
    Cold in thy early grave,
Have I forgot
    My only love, to love thee? Severed at last
    By time's all severing wave.

Cold in the earth
    And fifteen wild Decembers
From these brown hills
    Have melted into Spring,
Faithful indeed
    The heart is that remembers,
After such years
    Of pain and suffering.

Forgive sweet love of youth
    If I forget thee,
While the world's tide
    Is bearing me along;
Other desires
    And other hopes beset me,
Hopes which obscure
    But cannot do thee wrong.

No later light
    Has lighted my heaven,
No other morn
    Has ever shone for me,
All my life's bliss
    In thy dear life was given,
All my life's bliss
    Is in the grave with thee. 		But when the golden dreams
    Of youth had vanished,
And even despair
    Was powerless to destroy,
Then did I learn
    How existence could be strengthened,
Cherished and fed
    Without the aid of joy.

Then did I check
    The useless tears of passion,
Weaned my young heart
    From yearning after thine,
Sternly repressed
    Each burning wish to hasten
Down to that grave
    Already more than mine.

And even now
    I dare not let it languish,
Dare not indulge
    In memory's rapturous pain,
Once drinking deep
    Of that divinest anguish,
How could I face
    The bitter world again?

Emily Bronte

July 23rd, 1883
Rawley Springs
J. R. S.

HOME     INTRODUCTION     TRICE FAMILY TREE     CONTENTS     GALE HILL     WHO'S WHO?     MAPS