I've reached the milestone number ninety-eight;
December the nineteenth is the date,
The year eighteen hundred ninetey-seven;
Time strengthens my hope in God and heaven.

The night of death for me is drawing near,
By favor divine I've lived the past year,
To write my name and lineage - so rare -
And give it to the public free as air.

I'll write of the living, as far as I know,
And then the number of dead I'll show;
Hope soothes my mourning spirit while I write
Of the dear ones in regions of light.

My wealth is five sons in different parts,
Of different occupations and arts;
Two in Wisconsin, one in Iowa,
Two with their wives winter in Florida.

Living grandchildren I have twenty-four,
Great-grandchildren fifty-four - maybe more;
Great-great-grandchildren I have only six,
All healthy and in a common good fix.

None deformed, or a feeble mind in the clan,
Temperate, living on nature's good plan,
Some are in afluent circumstances,
Others have similar piles of finances.

Now here of the departed ones I'll write;
Four lovely daughters, who were my delight,
All I ever had, have gone and left me,
Of their social lives death has bereft me.

Eleven grandchildren on earth no more,
Five great-grandchildren on the other shore,
All safely gathered in the shepherd's fold,
Now my age and lineage is all told.

If this crude poem looks ostentatious,
Then pity me and be kindly gracious;
To make it plain, I've done my level best;
I close, "The pure in heart are ever blest."

           Dated, 1109 West Nineteenth Street
              Des Moines, Iowa, Dec. 19, 1897