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My daughter checked a book out from school. It was just collecting dust on the shelf when she discovered it.
It's an old one. Published 1896. Yes, 1896! One hundred and fourteen years old! The library card in the back shows the last time it was checked out was March 25, 1962. Cool huh?!

The book is titled Musings and Memories by Emmeline B. Wells. It's a collection of poetry. Mrs. Wells dedicates her book with these words, "To my children and to their children and children's children this little volume is lovingly dedicated, hoping it may be a valued memento of the maternal affection in all the years to come. Meanwhile I am not unmindful of the generous helpfulness and sincere appreciation (of these crude efforts in verse) by the many friends here and elsewhere who with sympathetic enthusiasm encouraged and made possible the publication of this work. Whatever may be the result of this venture into the world of books, I shall ever be deeply grateful to those who thought these unpretentious effusions worthy a place in the homes of the people among whom my lot has been cast."

Sure beats, "With love and thanks to my family and friends" doesn't it?

Here is one of the poems from the book,

                                                  OCTOBER

The woods, and the fields, and the golden grain
of the mellow and brown October,
And the purple hills and furrowed plain,
Bring the days so sad and sober;
But the sigh and rustle of falling leaf
To the pensive mind is a sweet relief.

The sunset so grand in its flaming red,
Lights the hills with a wondrous glow;
Tho' the beauty of summer days has fled
And the winds of autumn blow;
The frost has nipped the flowerets fair,
That we nursed and tended with so much care.

The beautiful vines that climbed so high,
And hung so graceful on wall and tower,
Are changing their colors, for ere they die
They bloom as bright as the gayest flower;
And we gaze and wonder so proud they seem,
While passing away like a summers dream.

On the mountain side and hills are seen
The blazing sumac and maples red,
And a host of trees in their brilliant sheen
Shimmer above where flowers lie dead;
And a plaintive voice in the sobbing trees,
Mingles its tones with the passing breeze.

And what remaineth to tell the story
Of the radiant flowers and happy days,
When the earth seemed crowned in robes of glory,
And the song of nature like a hymn of praise,
Trembled along o'er the verdant land,
And echoed afar on the ocean strand?

Why, the harvest-rich in its golden sheaves,
And the fruits the garden and orchard bring;
And the lesson taught by the withered leaves;
They will live again in the breath of spring;
And though the days are so sad and sober
There's beauty and grace in brown October.

I hope somewhere Emmeline B. Wells' children's children and their children have a copy of her book and read it once in a while, and hold it in their hands and say, "My Great grandmother so eloquently penned her innermost musings in such a desirous application that we cannot help but be compelled to honor her memory by impressing her writings upon our posterity."

I just say, (through my envy)  "WOW, how cool is that?!"

"...For hidden things to such will be revealed, Which erst for ages past has been concealed."