Feb 6, 2021 2 min read

We get weary of the pandemic. We may resent having to wear masks. We miss our friends. Some of us with comprised immunity live with anxiety that every time we go out, we might catch it. I decided maybe if I shared a poem written by my great-grandmother, Margaret Loretta Gilkey, when she lost five of her small children to the pandemic of 1888, that it would give us the boost to have the patience to wash our hands, be careful and wear our masks so that we and those we love and care for will stay safe. Reading this also made me realize I am grateful that this pandemic does not focus on small children and babies.

Family lore says is was from the black diphtheria and that the germs for it came on a postal letter written to them from relatives in Washington. The poem reads:

Our Darlings how we loved them,

We can never never tell!

But the blessed Savior called them,

And he doth all things well.

They were the sunshine of our home,

Now all is dark and drear;

Oh it was very hard to part

With those who were so dear.

But though we miss them sadly

Our loss has been their gain,

They are now among the bloodwashed

In a world that’s free from pain.

And we may once more meet them

When our work on earth is over.

Oh, the joy of that meeting

Over on the other Shore.

Where in all the countless ages

We shall dwell in perfect bliss.

Oh we would not call our darlings

From that heavenly home to this.

No, no we would not call them back

To a world of sin and pain

They are happy now forever

We will see them there again.

Margaret Boyer

New Freeport