1005. Poems by my dear mother, Ruth Allen Miles! She was a gifted soprano, teacher, mother and poetess!

This blog of my mother's poems was the favorite for 2 or 3 years!  I posted it 4 years ago on Feb. 12, 2014, just about 3 months after I started this blog.   It was read more times than any at that time.
       It came up on Facebook, and I want to share it again!


My mother, Ruth Allen Miles, was a gifted soprano, teacher, mother, and also a poetess!  She wrote quite a few lovely poems, and I have a few of them.  I will include the poems I have in this blog.  She was born on May 10, 2908, and passed away on Feb. 10, 1999 -- just 3 months before she would have turned 91 years old!  She was gracious and refined up to the very last!

          
This is Mother, about 85 years old.  Her noble character shows in her face!

     While Ruth was teaching at Salt Lake City, the winter of 1945-1946, and going to the U. Of U. she was summoned to her sister Adelia’s back in the small town of Washington, near St. George.   Her mother, Levinah Emeline Wilson Allen had had a heart attack.  Ruth arrived there a few hours before she died.  

This was taken of Levinah when she was about 20.

In her history, Ruth wrote: "She died as she had lived – Bravely, with no word of complaint.  Her last words were, “I’m glad to be here with my children.  Your voices are so quiet," and then, “It’s so peaceful here,” and with a smile she breathed her last.  God bless her memory.  How wonderful it will be to see her smile again." 

 (Pal)-  Ruth was very close to her mother, as she had lived with my mother and father (Ruth and Pratt Miles) the last 12 years of her life during the winters, while she was a Temple ordinance worker in the St. George Temple.  Levinah had been a widow for 31 and a half years.  Her husband had passed away leaving her with 8 living children from ages 1 to 19.  I'll tell their stories very soon.  My Grandmother, Levinah Emeline Wilson Allen is mentioned in blogs # 84, 24, 7, and 6.  (Some were in November and December 2013.)

 Ruth wrote this poem for her mother’s funeral:

The last expressions of Sister Levinah E. Allen arranged in poetry by her daughter Ruth Allen Miles, March 26, 1946.

Farewell my children; my girls and boys.
You were my pride, the source of my joys.                                                 
I’ve been permitted to stay to see you all grown
Now weep not for me, nor think you’re alone
For the spirit of Him who helped me through
The same is waiting to strengthen you.

I leave you not honored glory, or fame,
I leave you instead an untarnished name.
I leave you courage and faith and strength
And determination to do right, until at length
When your journey of life is through, you’ll trod
In my footsteps back to the throne of God.

Farewell to earth.  I have lingered long.
I’ve tasted your sorrow and I’ve joined in your song.
I’ve loved your hills, Temple spires and dome.
I’ve loved the shelter of a humble home.
I performed the tasks He gave me to do,
My earth path was busy as I traveled through.
For new experiences I anxiously wait
I welcome new service as I pass through the gate.

Greetings to you, my beloved John.
Once more your face I look upon,
Once more mine eyes look up to thine
Once more your hand gently touches mine.
The years so long that we’ve been apart
Are ended now, my youth’s sweetheart.
When first you left me with our family
The task was unbearable, it seemed to me.
But when the way was rough, and I’d tremble with fear
Yet though unseen, I felt you were near,
And feeling your strength I was encouraged anew
And the burden seemed lighter that I had to pass through.

And so now together in the morning dim
Together we go to the feet of Him
Together forever in His service we’ll be–
Oh what glorious joy of eternity!  

             This is Mom, (Ruth) in her prime, about 45 years old probably.  (One of the many school pictures she had taken as a teacher --for 40 years.)

Another poem is one of my favorites:


WE ALL HAVE A MOUNTAIN                             

We all have a mountain to climb,
Some rocks will be placed in our way.
Unknown paths will lead right,
Others beckon us left –
There is much to tempt us to stray.

We all have a mountain to climb,
Our breath will come deeply and fast;
For our strength will be taxed
To its uttermost depths
Ere we grope to the summit at last.

We all have a mountain to climb,
How else can we prove our strength
Than to carry our load
And help others along
Till we all reach the hilltop at length?

We all have a mountain to climb,
The view from the top is sublime.
God’s hand reaches out, His voice is to all –
“Follow me, while yet there is time.”

We all have a mountain to climb,
We all have a cross to bear,
But God showed us the way
On Calvary’s Hill –
Courage and Patience will guide us “there.”

Ruth A. Miles

 This next poem my mother wrote to me when she heard I was going to have my first baby, her first grandchild.  That grandchild is Wayne Miles Eckman, who is quoted in blog #78.  He inherited the musical talents of my parents, and also their testimonies. (Note on Feb. 12, 2018 -- he is now an ordained Patriarch.)

 We have 2 daughters who also are English teachers and writers, and other musical and gifted children and grandchildren.  I was my mother's first child and she was 26 years old, and my father was 43 years old.  My father had a daughter Delsy from a first marriage, who was 10 years older than I was, and she is mentioned in blog # 80, with her picture.  She died in 1947.

As I was growing up, I didn't date as much as my beautiful younger sisters, and I wore glasses!  -- still do! (That was in the day before contacts.) (Now in 2018, I don't wear glasses -- I had cataract surgery last September!)

 I used to worry that I would never get married.  Now that I have 9 children, with "numerous" posterity that seems strange -- but this is a poem my mother wrote for me during those "wall-flower" teen years.                                                    

 TO PAL                                                                    
                                                                                   
Since first your life began                                                
And as on your life stream ran                                    
You’ve told me as only a hurt one can                       
     You fell.                                                                   
                                                                                     
First was off a big wide bed                                        
And you bumped your little head                                 
‘Twas all my fault I knew, and said –                          
     You fell.

Then ‘twas off your little swing
Every child does such a thing.
And how that awful scratch did sting
     You fell.

Then you tried to ride a trike
When you were yet a little tike.
It didn’t go just as you’d like,
     You fell.

To get some fruit you went down stairs
Wails of pain soon filled the air,
Now your front tooth needs repair,
     You fell.

Down the hill you went so swift
In your box of a sled – makeshift,
You landed in the biggest drift,
     You fell.

On and on the story goes,
Where ‘twill end just no one knows,
But I’ll hear your words in my repose,
     You fell.

But this I’m sure on some bright day
That some fellow’s path will cross your way
And you’ll look back at me and say –
     You fell! 

Within just 2 or 3 years after she gave me that poem, I met my future husband Wayne, on a blind date.  He had returned from a mission in Sweden, and we then wrote while he was in the army.  Then we were married just before I turned 21.  We will be married 59 years this September 24th.  (written in 2014)

 I stayed in her home when our 3rd child Anita was born, and Wayne M. was about 3, and Delsy just 16 months old. (My oldest daughter -- I always knew that I wanted my first daughter to be named after my wonderful older sister who had passed away.)   Mother wrote a darling poem in a letter to us after we had left, telling her memories of that time, and the small toys the children had left.  I remember one thing she mentioned was Wayne M.'s cowboy hat.  I'm so sorry I lost that poem during the busy years after.                    
                                                                                      

This next poem was written by Ruth (before 1945) when she lived near the Black Hill, before Bluff street was there to a family who had a son die in an accident when he was about 20 years old.   We didn't know about this poem until I moved into a ward where a sister-in-law lived, of the young man this was written about.  She gave the original to me. The family had it in a frame and it was hanging on their wall for many years. 

This next poem was written to Ruth's mother the Christmas before her mother died.  

                  My dear Grandma Levinah E. Allen, when she was about 70.

Merry Christmas to you Mother, Dear,  

WHEN I THINK OF YOU

Of what do I think when I think of you?                                                       
A rose you wore all pearled with dew;
Or the radiant brilliance of a setting sun
And the satisfaction that comes from work well done.
Or the wonder of morning with the sun’s first hue
Of beauty I think, when I think of you.

I think of a farm surrounded with hills;
At the thought of it now my heart quickly fills
With rapture, as in memory I roam
O’re the hills and the trails of my childhood home.
And my heart fills with calmness, serene and true,
Of these, Mother, I think, when I think of you.

I think of life in a large, homey room;
The big shinny windows and your flowers in bloom,
And I carry again, the flowers you pick
For somebody’s funeral, or to one who is sick.
I see the big table that used to be there –
The chairs circled round it, and our family prayer.

I think of an old Chapel, choir seats in a row;                                         
How you first got me a member, I’d still like to know.
And I sing the dear hymns as we used to do,
And I feel that I’m sitting there now, close to you.

I think of the old Opera House and your wall side chair.
I know I sang much better because you were there.
You were such a chum through our college days,
Your face is all mingled with its dances and plays.
And I see again your warm happy smile,
Your courage and fortitude always made life worthwhile.

I think of the Temple all gleaming and white,                                   
And its halo of brightness in the darkness of night.
I think of the years, that under its roof you spent,                
How you loved the work, your life so content.
The work in the Temple seems more deep and true,
Because of the sacredness of it taught by you.

I think of the struggles, and trials, and strife,
I think of the sincerity of your humble life.
I think of determination, of strength and grit.
Of a soul that knows not what it means to quit.
Of all the nobleness I ever knew
I think of, dear Mother, when I think of you.
Ruth A. Miles  – 

Her mother, Levinah Emmaline Wilson passed away the following March 26, 1946.

Ruth loved great thoughts, and collected many poems on many subjects.  One she particularly liked, and gave a copy to all her family is written here:  -- This copy came from the internet, but Mother had the same one.

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The last statement about earning our heritage anew to really possess it, is the same idea in the blog # 94, with Elder Holland's quotes.  To really have the faith, stamina and courage our ancestors had, we need to develop it for ourselves, in our own lifetimes.   Their lives can give us courage to face our trials with faith, dignity, courage, and integrity! 

I truly hope the things I tell on this blog now and in the future, will help us have courage to do that.

Truly, my dear Mother, Ruth Allen Miles, was a wonderful example to me, and to all her posterity, who will yet multiply through the coming years!  (It has multipled a lot since I first wrote this on Feb. 12, 2014.)