Does anyone know the following poem read at a friend's funeral
Title & Author Unknown
Does Anyone Know the Title or Author Please?

When the days come that I must live alone
in my own thoughts, and when my eyes are dimmed
and cannot see the shadows on the hills
cast by the clouds, and when I cannot hear
the far off sounds of hurrying streams and sheep -
Then I will turn my mind to those great days
I spent upon the fells.

I will count them over one by one, and treasure them
as jewels that no-one can take from me.
Days when I climbed among the lowering clouds,
and saw the mist come swirling up like steam;
its flying streamers passing me so near,
I felt their ghostly fingers on my face.

I will remember seeing through the clouds,
drawn sudden back, as curtains at the play,
a distant lake, a valley brightly green,
a glittering torrent down a mountain stream,
just glimp'st before 'twas blotted out again.

Days when the sun was hot on rock and heath,
and I could lie far up upon some ledge,
hearing below the sad incessant voices of the Dales.
And I will dream of little mountain flowers,
the Butterwort with slender purple blooms,
the Sundew sticky with its catch of flies
the spongy mosses green and rusty red,
the cotton grasses waving silken plumes,
beside some lonely tarn high in the hills.

The feel of clothes drenched by the stinging shower,
I will remember rain and bitter winds,
teas at a wayside inn with some good friends,
hot baths and fires for tired limbs,
and all the loveliness of home and rest.

And while I think of all those joyous days,
of all the heights I've gained and hours I've loved,
I will not envy those who take their turn
in tramping manfully in storm or fine,
the hills I know, for they are part of me;
A heritage of beauty naught can spoil.



grahjill

The poem is printed, reported as read at a Songs of Praise service last March, and attributed to 'author unknown', in a recent issue of the Norbury Parish Church's magazine:
[www.norburypc.org.uk]
Maybe a phone call to the number printed for the church would elicit more details

Sorry - thought I had mentioned that. I spoke to the lady and she had the poem (again minus Title and Author) from her Aunt with a request to read it at the Aunt's funeral. This was all some time before the Aunt died and that was some years ago.



grahjill

I have had a little success in looking for this poem. It was published at the end of a book called "Walks and Talks with Fellman" by E Williams (Fellman) pub by John R Ainsworth in 1951. It was apparently entitled "Meditation" but no Author given. Since then it has appeared in "This England" for Spring 1996 but again no author (not sure if it had a title).



grahjill

," MEDITATION."

When the days 'come that I must live alone

In my own thoughts, and when my eyes are dimmed,
And canriot, 'see the shado.ws on the hills

Cast by' the clouds, and when I cannot hear
Tile far-off sounds of hurrying streams and sheep,
1'hen I will turn my mind to those great days

I spent upon the fells, and I will count
Them over one by one.
I will remember rain and bitter winds,
The feel of clothes drenched by stinging showers,
Teas'at a wayside inn, with some good friend,

Hot baths and fires, and warmth for tired limbs,
And all the loveliness of home and rest.
And while I think of all those joyous days
Of all the heights I've gained, and hours I've loved

I will not envy those who take their turn
In tramping manfully in storm or fine
The hills I know, for they are part of me,
A h,eritage of beauty nought c.an spoil.


Author Unknown.

Donald, except for the title "Meditation", that post doesn't add anything that isn't in the poem text already posted in this thread. It's only half as long, because it omits half the lines. It's interesting to know that there's this shorter version circulating. Where did you come across it?

The many typos indicate that you went to the trouble of typing it out yourself. Thank you for that. Unfortunately your current registration with emule doesn't enable you to edit your posts. Without that, it's best to make all necessary corrections in a separate document first, and then cut and past from that into your post.

Ian

Ian
the poem I put on the site was from the book
Walk and Talks with Fellman
I have the book

Donald

PS it was a photo copy from the book
nothing added or taken away by me

Donald, whether the typos were intended or not, they do exist. If they exist in the original, I would certainly doubt the credibility of the publisher. Here's another reference to the poem:

[www.norburypc.org.uk]


Les

The typos all look like the sort of errors you get when you use a text scanner without checking its output. Text-scanning software varies in its accuracy, but I don't know any that doesn't need human checking.

Ian

and then the human needs checking too! Typos are so very easy to miss, as our mind fills in most, without actually reading every single letter.