David Morris 1840-1914

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.