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03-05-2021, 10:34 AM,
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RJNorton
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Posts: 13,231
Threads: 556
Joined: Jun 2012
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RE: Extra Credit Questions
Who wrote this poem entitled Little Eddie?
Those midnight stars are sadly dimmed,
That late so brilliantly shone,
And the crimson tinge from cheek and lip,
With the heart's warm life has flown -
The angel of Death was hovering nigh,
And the lovely boy was called to die.
The silken waves of his glossy hair
Lie still over his marble brow,
And the pallid lip and pearly cheek
The presence of Death avow.
Pure little bud in kindness given,
In mercy taken to bloom in heaven.
Happier far is the angel child
With the harp and the crown of gold,
Who warbles now at the Savior's feet
The glories to us untold.
Eddie, meet blossom of heavenly love,
Dwells in the spirit-world above.
Angel Boy - fare thee well, farewell
Sweet Eddie, We bid thee adieu!
Affection's wail cannot reach thee now
Deep though it be, and true.
Bright is the home to him now given
For "of such is the Kingdom of Heaven."
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03-05-2021, 01:37 PM,
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RE: Extra Credit Questions
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03-06-2021, 10:25 AM,
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RE: Extra Credit Questions
Was it Dennis Hanks?
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03-06-2021, 11:08 AM,
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RJNorton
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Posts: 13,231
Threads: 556
Joined: Jun 2012
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RE: Extra Credit Questions
Yes, Susan and Gene! According to author Daniel Cravens Taylor Thomas Lincoln left 19-year-old Dennis Hanks in charge of his two children.
The book is entitled Thomas Lincoln Abraham's Father and was posted by Susan here.
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03-14-2021, 05:08 PM,
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RJNorton
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Posts: 13,231
Threads: 556
Joined: Jun 2012
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RE: Extra Credit Questions
Please try without googling. Thanks.
In 1830 Thomas Lincoln moved his family from Indiana to Illinois. He planned to farm the Illinois prairie land.
Years later a well-known writer described Illinois' prairie land as follows:
"Looking towards the setting sun, there lay, stretched out before my view, a vast expanse of level ground; unbroken, save by one thin line of trees, which scarcely amounted to a scratch upon the great blank; until it met the glowing sky, wherein it seemed to dip: mingling with its rich colours, and mellowing in its distant blue. There it lay, a tranquil sea or lake without water, if such a simile be admissible, with the day going down upon it: a few birds wheeling here and there: and solitude and silence reigning paramount around... Great as the picture was, its very flatness and extent, which left nothing to the imagination, tamed it down and cramped its interest."
What was the name of the writer?
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