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David Morris

1840-1914

I was indeed a rich man!

A lucky man, a family man,

A man firmly ensconced in the faith

Of the Nazarene.

It is written my friends

That to live for Christ

Is the summit of wisdom,

For wise men still seek Him!

And to die for Christ 

Is the absolute acme of human existence.

Rachel and I came to this heaven on earth

When the roads here were dirt in the summer

And mud in the winter.

Yes, me and the missus,

My lovely bride and me,

Found a home here in 1894

A comfortable curtained home on shady Milton Street

When the unburdened trees

Of ten thousand acres

Contained a myriad of feathered fledglings.

And so, with our own five chirping sparrows in the nest 

The missus and me, we marveled at

Their gregarious growth and 

Their high intrepid flight!

To the northern icy regions 

Our first fragile sparrow flew.

Lizzie, my fledgling wanderlust,

Found simple salvation in a cold wooden Iowan pew.

And later, found everlasting life and love

On the frozen Arctic tundra

Of ten thousand luminescent northern lights.

As far north as Dearing Station, my friends,

Twenty miles from the Arctic Circle

Our Lizzie travelled,

Travelled with steadfast faith,

A faith so firm, so unyielding,

It put me, her proud and faithful father,

To shame.

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