Madison County, ILGenWeb                                   

African/American History       Births     Cemeteries     Census     Churches     County History     Deaths        Home Page     Links

Maps     Marriages     Military     Miscellaneous     Newspaper Clips     Obituaries     Photo Album     Research Help    Surnames    Town Histories

Madison County Cemeteries

Illinois State Genealogical Society Cemetery Location Project      USGenWeb Cemetery Archives    

More Cemetery Records at the Illinois Digital Archives        Check out Graveyards.com for locations and pictures

(Those cemeteries with ** indicate records found by following links at the Illinois Digital Archives)

If you have access to cemetery records, or would be willing to visit a cemetery to index the names, please contact Bev

The following poem was included in the Alton Weekly Courier, July 19, 1855, and signed June, 1855, by Cousin Hetty

THE VILLAGE GRAVEYARD

There is a quiet graveyard, Which from my window lone,

I sit and watch at morning, And when eventide comes on.

'Tis near a rustic village, Far from the busy throng

That rolls the ball of commerce From State to State along.

Here no tow'ring monument Lifts high its stately head,

To mark the proud patrician, Now resting with the dead.

No deeds of worldly valor Are traced upon the stone,

To tell the wand'ring stranger What the ashes may have won.

No verse of glowing imagery Bespeaks the virtues rare

Of those who calmly slumber Within the graveyard there.

But in yon quiet corner, If you'll but wander near,

You'll see an orphan's tribute, 'Tis this: "My Mother Dear."

There, upon an humble slab, Beneath yon willow tree,

These simple words will meet you: "Dear one, I mourn for thee."

'Tis the sad, yet silent echo Of a widow's broken heart,

But soon from earthly sorrow, God called her to depart.

Look beneath you budding rose, And see "Our Willie's" grave,

Oft at morn, and noon, and eve, With tears his parents lave

The tiny mound, now verdant, Wherein their darling's laid;

And then his little spirit, (An angel now he's made.)

Looks down from Heaven, and comforts His sorrowing parents dear,

And bids them still press onward, Till He wipes away each tear.

There, too, an infant's sleeping, To whom no name was given,

But now they call her "seraph," That happy band in Heaven.

Tread lightly; here are nameless graves, These rude mounds only tell

That 'neath them now, in darkness, Decaying mortals dwell.

The wild bee hums as sweetly Above their narrow home,

The wild birds sing as gaily, As o'er the rich man's tomb;

The zephyrs chant a requiem, The starry heavens weep;

At eve, the crystal dewdrop, For the nameless ones who sleep.

While sitting at my window, And gazing out alone,

Upon the village graveyard, Till bright stars, one by one,

Steal forth in quiet beaut The dark world to illume,

And keep their nightly vigils Above the humble tomb -

How soothing to my spirit, To think, when life is o'er,

When my feeble lamp shall burn Upon another shore,

That with bright, happy angels, From yonder blue above,

I too may watch o'er mortals, In sympathy and love.

Back to the Top

Copyright Bev Bauser.  All rights reserved.