Volume 31, Number 1 - Fall 1991
The Top of the Hill
Ava, MO. 1/24/1929
J. S. Mercer
My Dear, sweet little Minnie, And Dear brother Arthur too
Your letters were full of merit, I prized them through and through.
They were filled with light and spirit, Coming direct from the heart:
They needed no interpriter, Their full meaning to impart.
Like dew to flowers in the desert, So fragrant and fresh and sweet
Filling the breast with ecstacy And untold joy complete.
They recall the scenes of the ages, The beauty and bloom of old.
The enduring thoughts of the sages, That the lessons of life unfold.
They picture the dear old homestead, That stands aloft on the hills
Surrounded by peach trees and roses, Whose air with fragrance they fill.
The dear little mother so patient, The three darling daughters so sweet,
So like the rosy cheeked peaches, They were made, you would think, just to eat.
And perhaps that’s the sequel why Arthur,
Though no reason could ever be found, Came so oft to admire the peaches,
Lying scattered abroad on the ground.
And her fond mamma never suspected That he was there fishing for Mae,
So there she was all unprotected; Thus he stole her affections away.
Then he bore her away to the wild west, Perhaps you’ve already been told,
Where dwell the fierce bear and the wild cat, Amid the hoar mountains so cold.
And so when I think of My Minnie, I picture the cub and the faun
Mingling at ease with her children Just playing at tag on the lawn.
Those bright days are gone and forever, Nevermore in this life to be seen,
But when I am reposing in Eden I shall write them all up in my theme.
And include therein all the children, From Jonny right down unto Lee,
Ther’ll be plenty of leisure in Eden, When the soul from sin is set free.
Then think of your father and mother, Of your brothers and sisters and still
When fully aborbed with your thinking, Oh! think of the top of the hill.
Of the top of the hill I am speaking, The top of the hill today,
But the top of the hill of tomorrow Is a thouand times farther away.
And the top of that hill is boundless, Stretching onward on every side,
And the numberless charmes on its sumit Are joys that forever abide.
Now this should be taken in kindness, No thought of giving offense,
Rush not to your rescue in blindness, But simply use plain common sense.
Now that is a jewel uncommon, Of all things least frequently used,
‘Tis a gem, that is prescious and priceless, By the wise and the unwise abused.
‘Tis a rainbow pinned on to the storm cloud,
To rob it of terror and fear, Recalling the words of our Master, "It is I, be ye of good cheer."
Then send a kind word unto father His old heart with gladness to fill,
And if ever you find time for thinking Just think of the top of the hill.
The hill that suggested an Eden, With its sumit turned up toward the skies,
Sweet as the angels of heaven, Or my Minnie’s deliscious blue eyes.
J. S. Mercer
This volume: Next Article | Table of Contents | Other Issues
Other Volumes | Keyword Search | White River Valley Quarterly Home | Local History Home
Copyright © White River Valley Historical Quarterly
