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This history of early life in Logan County, West Virginia, was written by Howard and Daisy Adams. Howard (1906-1976) and Daisy (b.1915) were children of Major and Belle Dora Adams of Trace Fork of Harts Creek. Titled “The life of pioneers during the latter half of the eighteenth century and the beginning of the 19th century” and written in the late 1960s or early 1970s, their history marks the only known attempt by local people to reconstruct the story of pioneer life. This poem, dedicated to their father, appears at the end of the history. It is dated March 15, 1946.

There by the road stands our dear old home

Where once we did dwell.

With Mother and Dad we would roam

O’er our homestead we loved so well.

We would sit by the fire on a winter night

Talking happy and gay.

Sometimes Dad would read while the fire burns bright,

The Bible, and then, he would pray

That God would watch over his loved ones dear

And our neighbors all around.

We would feel God’s presence near

As we knelt in that circle round.

Mother was a favorite of us all.

Dad loved her very dear.

We did love to hear her call

When the evening time was near.

She could soothe away our worries and frowns

And make us want to smile.

Oh, how I wish we could now sit down

With Mother and Dad for a while.

On January tenth, nineteen and thirty-nine,

I shall never forget that day,

God called our mother, leaving us behind

To worry along on life’s way.

God needed another angel fair

To live in His heavenly domain,

So He took our mother, with her love so rare,

To dwell in that home of fame.

We sure loved our dear old dad,

Though he ruled us with a vim.

He was the best friend we ever had

And we thought the world of him.

I shall never forget that Saturday night,

As the clock was striking nine,

As we sat around the fireside bright

Dad left us behind.

It was on December 16, 1944,

While our friends were standing around,

We had done all we could and could do no more.

The Death Angel of the Lord came down.

He took the breath from our darling dad,

And Dad will suffer no more,

But our hearts will always be lonesome and sad

Until we meet on that golden shore.

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