"Following Mom's death in 1978, three small notebooks and a scrap of wrapping paper were found among her personal possessions.
One notebook contained poetry and a couple other items she had written. On the wrapping paper was 'Weeping Willow', her last poem
written sometime after Gene's death in 1956. We had known Mom was Class Poet for the 1916 graduating class of Woodbine Normal
School. Finally, following her death, we had the opportunity to read her works. ...
While the project has been much work, it has also been very rewarding and somewhat disturbing. The typing allowed time for much
thinking about what Mom wrote and why. It appears that her writing revealed thoughts and moods that were uncharacteristic of her.
Did we know her as well as we thought?" - Bernard J. Frederick (The Writings of Bernice Marie Phillipy Frederick)
I wonder sometimes if she stopped writing, because no one was interested.
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I am lonesome, dear, yes lonesome -
If you were only here awhile!
It's so long since I last saw you,
Since I saw your tender smile.
It is dismal outside, darling,
Raining in the deepning gloom,
And it sends a shiver o'er me
As I watch the darkning room.
And I think of her grave, darling,
Out beneath the forest pine
Where we laid her in the evening;
Our sweet baby; yours and mine.
But we'll meet again, my sweetheart,
When the shadows flee away,
And you come again to greet me
From the darkness into day.
Bernice M. Phillipy (March 24, 1914)
In the Autumn
When the leaves are softly falling
In the woodlands far away,
Then for you my heart is calling,
Then with you I long to stray.
In the silent quiet evening
When the moon begins to shine,
Then I long to have you near me
Feel your treasured hand on mine.
I can see your brown eyes bending
With a look of love divine,
As you promised that old promise
Just forever to be mine.
Yes, the leaves are slowly falling,
Near and far they flutter by,
Brown and yellow, red and russet,
While the birds wing slowly by.
They are going - all are going -
Everything that to me is dear.
They are going as you went dear -
In the autumn of the year.
Bernice M. Phillipy (October 11, 1914)
Gone
Oh, for sweet oblivion tonight
To take away the ache that is not pain;
To fill my heart with hope anew and sweet;
To live there always and again.
And yet it's all a dream - a long dream -
A dream that one can only live in years;
A dream that's full of gladness, happiness; -
One never thought of broken hearts and tears.
The dream was one of love and sweet home life,
A little cottage near a lonely road;
Vines, and flowers, and bees, and soft green grass,
A meadow, and the hay and heavy load;
And so on, years and years to live it,
To love and be loved there in happiness,
And tonight it all is shattered at my feet, -
Oh, night wind, let me feel your cool caress.
Dreams, sweet dreams, - all gone
In one brief night, ne'er to return again.
They're far away, - oh throbbing heart be still,
They're gone - away - I am alone, alone.
Bernice M. Phillipy (February 22,1915)
Lost Faith
I lost the light of the morning's tint,
As the sun creeps from its rest;
I lost the quiet shades of night,
As it sinks to its home in the west;
I lost the heat of the noontide's glare;
I lost the rose's perfume rare;
I lost a star in the heavens of blue,
When I lost my faith in you.
I lost the smile my lips had framed,
To bring an answering smile;
I lost the light your love had brought
To my eyes, and after a while
I lost the peace my heart had known, -
Like a fluttering bird my rest was gone; -
I lost my soul in the tumult, too,
When I lost my faith in you.
O, God, I come to Thee for rest, -
Man proves himself far from trust, I see, -
I turn my steps to Thy Fatherly breast;
I put my trust, my all, in Thee;
Shelter me there; my sins forgive;
Let the spirit of goodness live, -
And yet I trusted thus once - Can it be?
Will I lose my faith in Thee?
Bernice M. Phillipy (October 16, 1916)
The Song of a Tired Spirit
Why try to keep up spirit in this worn-out shell
That passes through the world as flesh and bones;
There is naught in life to live for; naught to gain;
I live upon the hopes that now are past;
Hopes that were wrought of longing for that which was denied;
I love, and my love is thrown back upon the wings of fate;
Discouraged, I look into the future where work awaits me, -
Work for the needs of the body, such as meat and drink;
No love entwined around each lowly act -
Neither love for the act alone, nor anyone connected with the act;
I walk alone;
There is no one here who cares which way I go
Except for selfish purposes;
I have prayed to the God above, but 'twould seem
That even He has left His erring child;
I am tired - tired of the world and all that it holds forth;
So let me die - die as I have lived - alone;
But let that death be fraught with peace and rest;
Lay me tenderly unto the heart of mother earth
Who cares for all her children;
Press the soft turf above my head with love,
The love denied me now;
And let me rest, rest until the final judgement
When the great Father calls me forth
To answer for the sins of omission and commission
That lie upon my soul so heavily;
Speak not of shame, disgrace, or broken faith,
But let me rest in the divine sleep that knows no waking
Until God takes us unto Him!
Bernice M. Phillipy (November 20, 1919)
The old cliché goes, "Don't hide your light under a barrel." So the more that you can put your poetry out into public, like on the Internet, it will be read. Even if you never hear from those that read it. I often have to ask people who I have given books to whether they liked them or not. They may lie to me, but invariably, they say they did and want to read more.
Ron