Hour For Reflections

It was the hour for reflections. In the western sky the sun sank leaving but a trail of glory - trail of beauty as it vanished from the heavens. In the eastern sky one star shone faint at first but growing brighter as the candle in the window at a distance to the traveler as his weary step advances. Ever bright and growing brighter ‘till it’s friendly beam illumines everything around, about it.

All the world seemed bathed in shadows, shadows still they seemed but spirits. Spirits that had floated earthward to once more influence mortals. As their hushed and noiseless footsteps glided over field and river there seemed one more bright than others and my heart paused in my bosom as this self-same one addressed me “Fear Not! I was once a mortal” were the words its hoarse voice uttered, “I have come to tell the living of the glories of one departed”.

There upon this ghostly spirit waved its spectral arms toward heaven and with a rustling of its garments sank upon the seat beside me. In the far-away Wisconsin in the first month of the New Year came to earth a tiny baby – came to lighten others burdens. She the daughter of a preacher, born to know the scriptures early, scriptures of the Father, likewise deeds of love and kindness.

Written by Ida May Schaffer

January 1922

Age of 16