Lilian Stewart
I was the daughter of Lambert Hutchins,
Born in a cottage near the grist-mill,
Reared in the mansion there on the hill,
With its spires, bay-windows, and roof of slate.
How proud my mother was of the mansion!
How proud of father's rise in the world!
And how my father loved and watched us,
And guarded our happiness.
But I believe the house was a curse,
For father's fortune was little beside it;
And when my husband found he had married
A girl who was really poor,
He taunted me with the spires,
And called the house a fraud on the world,
A treacherous lure to young men, raising hopes
Of a dowry not to be had;
And a man while selling his vote
Should get enough from the people's betrayal
To wall the whole of his family in.
He vexed my life till I went back home
And lived like an old maid till I died,
Keeping house for father.
poem by Edgar Lee Masters
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Related quotes
Real Life Tale Of An Ungrateful Daughter
an ungrateful poor daughter blames her father
her mother sad died thirty-two long years ago
her mother did not choose to suffer illness die
was not mother’s fault choice to daughter leave
daughter in bitterness hate life torments father
her father worked two three jobs her education to pay
her poor father said study succeed attend university
she wanted to spend money work in Texas chicken
she married a shiftless dreamer saying play party angles
her father helped raise their two children in his home
she appreciates nothing saved not never to buy her home
she appreciates not years her family lived with her father
she appreciates not her eldest daughter her father raised
this daughter her husband accept no responsibility blame
daughter says if mother were alive life would be different
poem by Terence George Craddock
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My House
This is my house,
Treat it as such,
It is where I dwell.
It is my castle,
I am it's king,
It is where, I alone prevail.
I set the rules,
For which we live,
For my wife, child and I
If you cannot accept them,
If you only reject them,
Please, just step outside.
This is my house!
I support it with two hands,
Liken the one, my father once owned.
And when I got married,
And I took me a bride,
My house, became our home.
I'll fight for the rights,
For which it stands,
To shelter, my family and I,
To protect ourselves,
And to raise our family,
And for that, I would surely die.
Though it may not be a castle,
It may not be a mansion,
But of its four walls I am proud.
For many memories are here,
Many hopes and dreams lie there,
For this is my house, our home.
Randy L. McClave
poem by Randy McClave
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Lost and Found
In a southern city lived a wealthy family;
In a southern city was the happy home
Of a father and mother and a little daughter.
In peace and contentment they lived alone.
But one summer evening there happened a misfortune,
Which caused the parents to weep and mourn,
For this little daughter, a loving little treasure,
Was a poor little wanderer far, far from home.
It happened thus, -- the mother went out calling
On a widow friend, who lived all alone;
She left her little daughter in the care of her father,
And through his neglect she wandered from home.
The father rocked his child, till her eyes closed in slumber;
Thought he to himself, I'll go over across the way,
And see a neighbor friend; he'll be there this evening,
And I must see him before he goes away.
He left his little one, he supposed, sweetly sleeping
In her little cradle, in the house alone,
And in his great hurry he left the gate ajar;
This thoughtlessness caused destruction to his home.
Soon after he was gone she awoke from her slumber,
Poor child, she then found herself all alone,
For no one was there, no one heard her weeping
As she wandered away far, far from home.
She wandered along on the busy thoroughbare,
No one seemed to notice this little one alone;
She wandered down Broadway till the little feet were tired,
This poor little wanderer far away from home.
At last, getting weary, she sat down on the pavement,
And soon fell asleep, so tired had she grown;
In her troubled sleep she would softly murmur, papa;
This poor little lost one so far away from home.
A policeman came along and saw her sweetly sleeping,
On the pavement at midnight alone.
He gently picked her up and took her to the station,
This poor little wanderer far away from home.
He advertised, but could not find her parents;
At last he took her to the orphan home,
Where she lived till a farmer in the country
Took her to live with him, this wanderer alone.
The father died o'er the loss of his daughter,
The mother sought for her three years alone;
At last she found her with kind people in the country,
Her poor little wanderer far away from home.
Kind people can imagine the joy of the mother,
When she found her little loving one.
"Oh God," exclaimed the mother, "I have found my little Alice,
My poor little wanderer far away from home.
poem by Julia A Moore
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William House and Family
Come all kind friends, both far and near,
Come listen to me and you shall hear --
It's of a family and their fate,
All about them I will relate.
They once did live at Edgerton,
They once did live at Muskegon,
From there they went to Chicago,
Which proved their fatal overthrow.
It was William House's family,
As fine a family as you see --
His family was eleven in all,
I do not think it was very small.
Two children died some years ago,
Before they went to Chicago,
Five children there he had with him,
When death his home there enters in.
The small-pox then was raging there,
And Oh! it would not their house spare,
For all but one was sick of them,
A dreadful house it must have been.
The eldest girl was married then,
The eldest boy was in Michigan,
The second boy he was at home,
And took care of them all alone.
His father and his mother dear,
And dear sister, too, I hear,
Were very sick and in his care,
And no kind friends to help him there:
Two little brothers, and a baby too,
Made six in all -- what could he do,
He had to take care of them all,
The baby, too, was very small.
As he would go to his father's bed,
And try to soothe his aching head,
"My son, I pray you leave me, do
Go take care of poor mother, too."
"Your mother and sister need your care,
And your little infant brother there;
Oh! Charlie, Charlie, take care of them,
My son, do all for them you can."
It seemed as though he did not know
That his poor soul so soon must go,
And leave his little ones he loved,
To go to that bright world above.
But God he called his soul away,
It had to leave, it could not stay --
He never more on earth will be,
His soul is from sin and sorrow free.
Charles helped the sexton, I am told,
To lay his form in the coffin cold --
How sad, how sad, poor soul was he,
When last his father's form did see.
Minnie May House she had to go,
And leave her friends that loved her so --
She was a girl in her teens,
A lovely flower as e'er was seen.
Minnie and her mother lay on one bed,
And when Charles said, "our Minnie is dead,"
His mother then she did grow wild,
And early after knew her child.
They buried Minnie by her father's side,
And left them there where they had died --
Charles took his mother and brothers then
And brought them back to Michigan.
For the mother and the baby too,
Kind friends did all that they could do,
But those poor souls they could not save,
For now they're sleeping in their grave.
Oh! what a noble son was he,
His age was then only sixteen --
Charles House's name I have told before
God bless his soul forever more.
poem by Julia A Moore
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Lambert Hutchins
I have two monuments besides this granite obelisk:
One, the house I built on the hill,
With its spires, bay windows, and roof of slate;
The other, the lake-front in Chicago,
Where the railroad keeps a switching yard,
With whistling engines and crunching wheels,
And smoke and soot thrown over the city,
And the crash of cars along the boulevard,—
A blot like a hog-pen on the harbor
Of a great metropolis, foul as a sty.
I helped to give this heritage
To generations yet unborn, with my vote
In the House of Representatives,
And the lure of the thing was to be at rest
From the never-ending fright of need,
And to give my daughters gentle breeding,
And a sense of security in life.
But, you see, though I had the mansion house
And traveling passes and local distinction,
I could hear the whispers, whispers, whispers,
Wherever I went, and my daughters grew up
With a look as if someone were about to strike them;
And they married madly, helter-skelter,
Just to get out and have a change.
And what was the whole of the business worth?
Why, it wasn’t worth a damn!
poem by Edgar Lee Masters from Spoon River Anthology
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Togetherness, Unity and Love
Father and Mother, I love you...
I've said it, yeah, OK.
That's right, I've said it, 'cos it's true.
Here's where I choose to stay.
This house is more than just a house,
'Cos love lives here each day,
Yes, I thank God this house is ours,
This home in which we pray...
Father and Mother, thanks so much,
I want to make you proud.
I know sometimes you'll never budge
In rules that you've allowed,
Yet even when you tell me off
And I stand here, head bowed...
I know our house is filled with love,
Of that there is no doubt...
Father and Mother, I thank you...
For both of you love me.
I've seen it in the things you do,
In all you choose to be.
The Christmas gifts, the Easter gifts
And birthday gifts so free.
No wonder that my spirit lifts
In all this love I see...
(September 2011)
poem by Denis Martindale
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In My Father's House
(arranged and adapted by elvis presley)
In my father's house are many mansions
If it were not true he would have told me so
He has gone away to live in that bright city
He's preparing me a mansion there i know
Jesus died upon the cross to bear my sorrow
Freely died that souls like you might have new life
But i know that soon there'll come a bright tomorrow
When the world will all be free from sin and strife
(do not shun the saviors love, from up in glory)
(or you won't be there to sing the gospel story)
In my father's house are many mansions
If you're true then to this land you'll surely go
song performed by by Elvis Presley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Tribute To My Revered Father
My Father was a great teacher,
Good husband to my good Mother;
He taught his pupils very well;
In an old house, did he dwell.
Well he reared his children seven!
Lived for up to eight times ten;
His forehead sweat fell on the soil;
My Father so well, did he toil.
A man who possessed great talents;
And honesty par excellence;
Cheap Politics did he eschew;
This world hath seen but very few.
He lived in humble conditions;
A law-abiding citizen;
He gave us good education;
And raised us well in religion.
He’as born and bred in piety;
And rose in popularity;
A logic-man, Philosopher;
None could him well decipher.
A versatile man, Orator;
He tried to make a new order;
Oppressed, he died with plenty peace;
Yet in god, he lived in ease.
His learning to him was his wealth!
Together with his body’s health;
And she was great too, my Mother;
Who well-supported my Father.
A human ‘immortal’-being!
With yeoman-service worth seeing;
He loved the poor and downtrodden;
That fetched him place sure in Heaven.
But one day when he died, I cried!
By Heaven’s words, he did abide;
God-fearing, undaunted, he left;
For his great soul, a lot I wept.
I see him as a bright new Star!
In the night-Sky clearly, afar;
Oh what a great man Father was!
Truthfulness was his greatest cause.
Fondly dedicated in loving memory of my beloved father
Shri. A.T.Antoniswami M.A., L.T., Coimbatore
poem by John Celes
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As It Was
Ginny loved it
when the time came
For their annual trip
to the seaside
And her father rented
the house with the big garden
that lead onto the sea.
She and her brothers and sister
Looked forward to it
every year and it seemed the sun
shone almost constantly
And the house seemed
as it was the year before
nothing changed nothing new
just the same rooms
and outlook and young Lily the maid
who came each year too
to help their mother
around the house
and watch
the younger children.
Her mother
Was the organiser
the one who seemed most near
to the children who seemed
to know the children’s needs
and wants and tried to keep
her husband happy
and allow him
his space and quiet
which he valued most of all.
Ginny liked it
when the sea was out
and there was plenty of sand
to play on to make a sand castle
with a moat and drawbridge
made from small pieces of driftwood
found on the beach.
But once her mother died
the seaside house
seemed less welcoming
the sea seemed
hardly ever to go out
than it was back again
the sun was less warm
less friendly
and her father
would mope
around the house
moaning and groaning
In his grief and bellowing
at Lily the maid
to do this and do that
making her cry
and only at night
when all were asleep
and Ginny was snuggled
Down in bed did it seem
as it was when her mother
would enter the room
and sit on the bed
and smile and whisper
the words she used to
placing a ghostly hand
on Ginny’s brow
and kiss her cheek.
Ginny remembered the house
By the sea years later
with the yellowy sand
And walking with Lily
the maid
hand in hand.
poem by Terry Collett
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My father, My father
My father, my father,
I love he,
my father, my father,
made me see,
how beautiful this world really can be.
My father, my father,
said to me,
my daughter my daughter,
come see me,
I wont be around forever, and i have things that must be.
My father, my father,
dont die on me.
[I wrote this while my father was in the hospital, I'm sorry to say he never got to leave. R.I.P October 7,08.]
poem by Dakota Ellerton
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A freedom fighter
A respected man he is
A loved man he is
For his doings, for what he did
Yes he is a freedom fighter
He never stood and watched
He was part of them
Those who had hearts for the innocent people
But in the end he was a leader
He was the one who was punished
Punished for the wonderful things he did for the people
He did them with his power
Now he earn the people respect
They love him he’s their hero
He fought for them
He fought for people’s freedom
Yes he is our freedom fighter
He never gave up no matter what
They never got him down no matter what they did
He stayed away from home and family
Living in locked house for 27 years
Almost his man time in Roben Island
He is South Africa’s father
He is Africa’s father
He is the world’s father
He is every one’s father, a loved father
He is our freedom fighter
A special dedication to:
Mr. Nelson Mandela
Tata
poem by Alancia Lebogang Mogorosi
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Judas' Kiss
Are you going to kiss me
just like what Judas did to Jesus?
Are you selling me
to the man in the big house?
Do you want me to join
the women in the big house
who are not allowed to see the world?
Oh, father, father
please don't give me that judas' kiss
I promise I'll be like a man working in your farm
where the trees are old and dying.
Oh, father, father
please don't give me that judas' kiss
and just let me be free
to marry the one I love.
poem by Marites C. Cayetano
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Who Is A Father?
What is a father or better yet who?
Who is a father? What does he do?
Is he a man with a spouse? Does he live in your house?
Does he get up early and stay up late?
Just to make sure there's food on your plate?
Is he caring or daring? Does he talk real fast?
Is he wise and unerring? Does talk about the past?
Is he short or tall? Does size matter at all?
When you hear his voice do you answer his call?
Who is a father? Did you get the right one?
Who is a father? Are you a daughter or a son?
Who is a father? Did you get one?
I have a Father! He never leaves me alone!
In the arena of fathers some answer the call
Then there are those who always fall
Short of God's vision for their life
God gave them to you to pray they get right! !
Who is your father?
Did he leave before you were born?
Make God your father! !
Then you're neither forsaken nor forlorn!
Who is your father? Does he know you by name?
My Father in Heaven knows your very frame?
poem by Sabrina Robinson
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Unseen
something's wrong with mother always cleaning the house
and father complains for she does nothing but sweep and scrub
and dust and wipe and rub,
the floors are shiny and father does not like it
he may slide and the children too
and each may hurt the body, but mother cannot be stopped
and we complain like what father does, but mother does not
really mind, for she has become so hardheaded because father
slaps her and we make her deaf with our grumblings
until then when mother died and father cried and we felt we had all our
lives wasted, but there was one in the family who smiled
someone who thought that mother simply did what she liked best
clean the dirt, mop the floors, get all the spider's cobwebs
someone sees the beauty of mother, she's doing her chores still
but now unseen
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Oh, FATHER! - FEEL MY Untold LOVE! (Part-1)
At schooltime, my father left me at house gringo!
Yet I Kept my tender heart at home of lingo!
When I quested, for fate “he is right as rain.”
Tender tears exploded like MISSILES yet in vein;
Mother, oh mother, I am still your little son!
Father, Oh father, I love thee till I am done!
While I missed mother’s love and father’s stories
All the night I stood without sleep with many worries
I asked the god, why two legs and hands!
Why not two bodies and two souls for errands!
Mother, oh mother, I am still your little son!
Father, Oh father, I love thee till I am done!
Sugarcane Juice, peanuts and berries!
Our green fields, summer holidays and holy tours!
When thousand memories flashes in mind, now,
How much I miss mom's care! How much I miss dad’s love!
Mother, oh mother, I am still your little son!
Father, Oh father, I love thee till I am done!
The small buns you bought for me still smell good,
The grapes brought, coming from city is still my favorite food;
The fruits you brought me with roots; are they heaven sent?
Yet I didn’t pay any rent pay as you are my parent!
Mother, oh mother, I am still your little son!
Father, Oh father, I love thee till I am done!
Do you know who my MAHATMA is? Oh, my brother!
He is not Mandela, nor Gandhi but my father
Who taught me A to Z rather?
What to do and what not to do, I gather!
Mother, oh mother, I am still your little son!
Father, Oh father, I love thee till I am done!
When I think of all the things you gave to me:
Your sacrifices in food; love and affection are some to name,
............................................. ................................................. .....
*A big NOTICE BOARD: Oops! Sorry the poem is NOT completed. This is just break time! Now continue Your reading in part 2 the poem.
Oh, FATHER! - FEEL MY Untold LOVE! (Part-2) contin'd in part 2.. Read it.
poem by Harindhar Reddy
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Honor Our Father! ! !
I remember when I was young,
My New Life with Christ, Just begun,
I became Born-again!
I'll Never forget that day,
When Jesus came in my heart, To Stay!
He's been guiding me all this way,
One day I asked Him'Father, What should I do?
My earthly Dad, wants to be called father too
I know Your Word says, Call No man Father
On Earth, But Only Our Father in Heaven,
You're The Father -of us all, This is True! ! !
Father replied'My Child, You don't understand
'I AM' 'Your Holy Father'
Your earthly father is a Human, man
But You are to Honor Your Father and Mother,
Because that's one of My Commands,
By Honoring them, You also Honor Me!
I appointed Your Parents, to guide You to see,
Jesus! Through Him, You've come to me,
'I AM' The Holy Father, I give Eternal Life!
poem by Patricia Martin
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A Father Image I
Oh father, my father
Am humbled by your ways
As you sustain innate integrity
Of having a low profile lifestyle
Always patience and responsible
As you stay loving mum till now
Oh father, my father
Am inspired by your manners
As you hold the cool temperance
Of always being forgiving and caring
Always supportive and understanding
As you are standing by for us till now
Oh father, my father
Am encourage by your humility
As you practice sound principles
Of fatherhood and a counselor
Always guiding us by example
As you live a clean life till now
No wonder I am your son
As I walk on your footsteps
Of being a dear good father
To my beloved own family
How I wish I could live on
To be like you till now at 75
poem by Marvin Brato Sr
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The Prodigal Son
Afflictions, though they seem severe;
In mercy oft are sent;
They stopped the prodigal's career,
And forced him to repent.
Although he no relentings felt
Till he had spent his store;
His stubborn heart began to melt
When famine pinched him sore.
What have I gained by sin, he said,
But hunger, shame, and fear;
My father's house abounds with bread,
While I am starving here.
I'll go, and tell him all I've done,
And fall before his face
Unworthy to be called his son,
I'll seek a servant's place.
His father saw him coming back,
He saw, and ran, and smiled;
And threw his arms around the neck
Of his rebellious child.
Father, I've sinned - but O forgive!
I've heard enough, he said,
Rejoice my house, my son's alive,
For whom I mourned as dead.
Now let the fatted calf be slain,
And spread the news around;
My son was dead, but lives again,
Was lost, but now is found.
'Tis thus the Lord his love reveals,
To call poor sinners home;
More than a father's love he feels,
And welcomes all that come.
poem by John Newton
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Father & Son
There is the family photograph
That is your father’s face,
There is your father’s father
Grey-gathering years apace;
The son, bright-eyed in the morning,
The father, lined and drawn,
The son became the father
On the day that you were born.
We’ve all set out on the highway
Our fathers wished us well,
The sons became the fathers
In the same distinctive spell;
The road of all beginnings
Is all there is to lend,
But many a twist, and many a turn
Has marred us at the end.
He was my father’s father,
I am my father’s son,
We’ve travelled as far, and farther
Than our father’s years have run;
The twists and turns of fortune
Mean nothing, lost or won,
But the love of a father’s father,
And the love of a father’s son.
3 September 1977
poem by David Lewis Paget
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The Best Dad In The World
My Father is a man of pride
Who often takes a swig, whenever he is down?
But despite all that
He still the best father in the world
Whenever he came from work
He'd cook and do our meals
He taught us how to clean a house
And how to make our beds
He taught us how to laugh and cry
And not be shy in front of eggs
He only ever smacked us
When we were bad, and had no ears
But still he's the best dad in the world
My father is a man of pride
Who takes no crap from any man?
He may be quite as a mouse
But when he speaks he brings down the house
Because he's a story telling man
He's a caring man
Who's endured the worst throughout the years?
At his own hands drinking his beers
But even after all that
He's still the best father in the world
Because without his hand in my life
I would not be who I am
So I say thank you
BECASUE HE IS THE BEST DAD IN THE WORLD
poem by Kaila George
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