Library Collections: Document: Full Text


Memories Of Eighty Years

Creator: Fanny J. Crosby (author)
Date: 1906
Publisher: James H. Earle & Company, Boston
Source: Available at selected libraries
Figures From This Artifact: Figure 2  Figure 3  Figure 4  Figure 5  Figure 6  Figure 7  Figure 8  Figure 9

Previous Page   Next Page   All Pages 


Page 7:

72  

To a young and imaginative person there is nothing more inspiring than life in the country. Existence becomes a perpetual dream of delight; and there are no pangs to sadden the buoyant spirit. The sunny hours of my childhood flowed onward as placidly as the waters of the Hudson, not many miles distant from our home. Through the secular and religious papers our town was in communication with the great world outside. To be sure, the news sometimes came several days after it had happened, but it was new to us. I used to sigh and wonder if I would ever be able to gain very much of the great store of human knowledge, but I hoped some day at least to travel and visit a few of the places of which we constantly heard. Before many years this desire for information quickened all my senses until I was eager and alert to the smallest chance of learning something. My heart sank within me, how-ever, when I realized that there was no way for me to learn; and thus, not being satisfied, my longing for knowledge became a passion from which there was seldom any rest. A great barrier seemed to rise before me, shutting away from me some of the best things of which I dreamed in my sleeping and waking hours. I was somewhat impatient, still hopeful; but as the years succeeded each other in their usual round, what frequently seemed to me an oasis, sooner or later, faded like a mirage farther and farther into the dim and distant future.

73  

I often went to visit my grandmother, who lived in the house where I was born; and it was a great pleasure to report the progress that I was making in the study of the Holy Scriptures. My desire for knowledge was increasing, but I found that the teacher in the village school, to which I often went with the children of my own age, was too busy to give me the personal help that I needed. Grandmother was very patient with me and did all that she possibly could for my happiness. When I went to see her she always gave me the room that I liked best; and I shall never forget one night that I spent there. Toward twilight she called me to her and both of us sat for a time talking in the old rocking chair. Then we knelt down by its side and repeated a petition to the kind Father, after which she went quietly down stairs, leaving me alone with my own thoughts. The night was beautiful. I crept toward the window; and through the branches of a giant oak that stood just out-side, the soft moonlight fell upon my head like the bene-diction of an angel, while I knelt there and repeated over and over these simple words,

74  

"Dear Lord, please show me how I can learn like other children."

75  

At this moment the weight of anxiety that had bur-dened my heart was changed to the sweet consciousness that my prayer would be answered in due time. If I had been restless and impatient before, from that time forth I was still eager, but confident that God would point a way for me to gain the education which I craved. As I have already said, I felt no resentment against the poor physician who destroyed my eyes, but I was not content always to live in ignorance; and, in the course of time, in a way of which I had no previous intimation, my wish was to be granted in fullest measure.

76  

CHAPTER IV
EARLY POETIC TRAINING

77  

EVEN before I was eight years of age my imagination was occupied with all sorts of material that I was constantly weaving into various forms; and among these were rude snatches of verse, none of which, however, saw the light of the newspapers. My mother was in the habit of reading to me from the best poets; and I soon be-came so presumptuous as to believe that I could improve on some of the hymns that were composed by the deacons of our Presbyterian Church. Such subjects as "The Moaning of the Wind for the Flow-ers" seemed especially beautiful; and some lines written on this topic were copied by a friend and sent to my grandfather, who immediately hailed me as a promising poet; but he was very careful not to say much about it in my presence, because he thought that any words of praise might blast my budding poetic genius through the pride that I might feel. Nine years from that date the same dear man walked four miles and back again for the purpose of purchasing a copy of the New York "Herald," containing some verses I had written on the death of General Harrison.

78  

One earlier effusion, unbeknown to me, crept into the papers, and might have caused me not a little trouble. It described the dishonest acts of a miller, then living not far from Ridgefield, who was in the habit of mixing his flour with corn meal; and was sent by a friend of mine to the "Herald of Freedom," a small weekly paper published by P. T. Barnum at Danbury. The gentleman who afterward became so famous as the greatest showman in the world evidently thought my production worth exhibiting; for, much to my regret, he gave it a small corner in his paper. Thus might I have held an uncomfortable niche in the hall of fame provided by Mr. Barnum. But I chose only to exhibit the first stanza of my little ditty:

Previous Page   Next Page

Pages:  1  2  3  4  5  6  7  8  9  10  11  12  13  14  15  16  17  18  19  20  21  22  23  24  25  26  27  28  29  30  31  32  33  34  35  36  37  38  39  40  41  42  43  44  45  46  47  48  49  50  51  52  53  54  55  56  57  58  59  60    All Pages