Julia Ann Moore

Julia Ann Moore Poems

He is sleeping, sounding sleeping
In the cold and silent tomb.
He is resting, sweetly resting
In perfect peace, all alone.
...

We are little children,
That go to Sabbath school,
To hear of our Redeemer,
Likewise the golden rule.
...

Dearest one, do you remember,
As we sat side by side,
How you told me that you loved me,
Asked me to be your bride.
...

On the life of Andrew Jackson,
Now dear people I will write,
And in sketches, I will tell you
His career with great delight.
...

Hail the coming holiday,
With a hearty joyous feast,
And drive away sorrow, friends,
For a day or two at least;
...

Bless those little children
That love to go to school;
Blessed be the children
That obey the golden rule.
...

Fourth of July, how sweet it sounds,
As every year it rolls around.
It brings active joy to boy and man,
This glorious day throughout our land.
...

Gently on the stream of time,
We are floating day by day,
In life's native boats sublime
We soon anchor in the bay.
...

Air -- "He Folds Them on His Bosom''

Be kind to all little ones,
All fathers, mothers dear,
...

Air -- "Lucy Long"


My friends, I pray you listen,
...

In Grand Rapids is a handsome club,
Of men that cricket play,
As fine a set of skillful men
That can their skill display.
...

In the year eighteen seventy-six,
A Fourth of July celebration
Was held in Grand Rapids city
In honor to our nation.
...

Air -- "Three Grains of Corn"


Once was a boy, age fifteen years,
...

Air -- "Gently Down the Stream of Time"


Have you heard of the dreadful fate
...

To Original Music


The people in this nation,
...

Air -- "Lily Dale"


Come all kind friends, wherever you may be,
...

On a moonlight evening, in the month of May,
A number of young people were playing at croquet,
They mingled together, the bashful with the gay,
And had a pleasant time and chat, while playing at croquet.
...

Come all ye friends of Liberty,
Who love our good old nation,
Let hands and hearts united be,
And beat the wide creation.
...

Air -- "Belle Mahone"


Once there was a lady fair,
...

Air -- "Bright Alfaretta"


Wild roved the Indians once
...

Julia Ann Moore Biography

Julia Ann Moore, the "Sweet Singer of Michigan", born Julia Ann Davis in Plainfield Township, Kent County, Michigan (December 1, 1847–June 5, 1920], was an American poet, or more precisely, poetaster. Some comparison to William McGonagall is worth making. Unlike McGonagall, Moore commanded a fairly wide variety of meters and forms, albeit like Emily Dickinson the majority of her verse is in the ballad meter. Like McGonagall, she held a maidenly bluestocking's allegiance to the Temperance movement, and frequently indited odes to the joys of sobriety. Most importantly, like McGonagall, she was drawn to themes of accident, disaster, and sudden death; as has been said of A. E. Housman's A Shropshire Lad, in her pages you can count the dead and wounded. Edgar Wilson Nye called her "worse than a Gatling gun". Her chief claim to contemporary note, however, is that she inspired Mark Twain to create the character of Emmeline Grangerford in Adventures of Huckleberry Finn. Grangerford's funereal ode to Stephen Dowling Botts. Moore was also the inspiration for comic poet Ogden Nash, as he acknowledged in his first book, and whose daughter reported that her work convinced Nash to become a "great bad poet" instead of a "bad good poet".)

The Best Poem Of Julia Ann Moore

A Departed Friend

He is sleeping, sounding sleeping
In the cold and silent tomb.
He is resting, sweetly resting
In perfect peace, all alone.

He has left us, God bereft us,
And his will must e'er be done,
It will grieve us, and bereave us
To think of this noble son.

While on earth he done his duty,
To all his fellow men,
Some will miss him in his of office,
Where he often used the pen.

He was witty, always happy,
Kind and genial in his way;
He was generous in his actions,
And his honor could display.

He has held many an office,
And has done his duty well;
And his name will be remembered
By the friends that knew him well.

Friends are weeping, softly weeping,
In his kind and loving home;
Let him slumber, sweetly slumber,
Till God calls him from the tomb.

Julia Ann Moore Comments

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