43. MOLLY'S LIFE AND WORK ARE ENDED.
Now forward through the years,
Ever more and more descendants
Are toiling midst hopes and fears,
Mingling with the nation's millions.
Joseph Elwell married Tilda,
Daughter born to Polly Wilson
And her husband, William Wilson,
Dwelt on Burlington's fair hill-side
In a little forest cabin,
Making baskets for the people,
Sold them often in the village —
Collinsville beside the river.
Many dogs, awake and watching,
Guarded well the home of Elwell,
Through the daytime and the night time,
Warding off intruding strangers.
Tilda, versed in healing powers,
Found in many plants and flowers,
Helped to cure the sick and wounded,
Brought relief to ailing people.
Tilda's younger sister, Eunice,
Married thrifty farmer Warner,
Lived a useful life of service,
Rearing sturdy, happy children,
Known in Burlington and Canton.
Thus the story of these people
Carries on to generations
Yet unborn — an endless story.
Endless is the Light House story,
All the lives of all the children,
All adventures and achievements,
To the eighth great generation-
Others coming in the future —
All their names and all their service
In their many fields of labor,
So we leave it to the future,
While the legends of this people
Spread the fame of fair Barkhamsted,
Far beyond our nation's borders,
And the Light House on the hill-side
Stands secure in song and story.
Ever onward still they travel,
Father, son and grandson marching,
Generations pressing forward,
Down the vista of the ages.
Molly Barber and James Chaugham —
Dead and buried — gone forever:
Scattered now are their descendants.
Some are in the Town of Woodbury
Busy digging graves and hunting;
Some in Riverton and Colebrook,
Some in Harwinton and Winsted,
Some in Michigan are living.
Some there are who fought with honor
Through the heat and sweat of summer
And the wind and cold of winter
In the Civil War for freedom
Of the toiling colored people.
Others later‘ gainst the Axis,
Fought beyond the nation's borders,
World War First and World War Second;
Suffered in the deadly battles,
On the sandy dunes of Tunis,
On the plains of Central Europe,
On Pacific's sultry islands;
Gave their lives for peace and order
And the things they thought were holy,
Even as their mother, Molly,
Sacrificed her life for honor,
In a Ragged Mountain cabin.
Coming from the hill-side cabin,
On the side of Ragged Mountain,
In the town of fair Barkhamsted,
By the rolling Tunxis River
Generations speeding onward
In an ever widening circle,
Carry far the blood of Chaugham
And his spouse, brave Molly Barber,
Down the years with Adams, Hobson,
Jacklin, Lawrence, Barber, Elwell,
Webster, Doty, Berry, Cockran,
And the thousands yet to follow.
Through the ages still they journey,
Ever more and more descendants,
From that Ragged Mountain cabin,
Home of fearless Molly Barber
And her spouse, the Honest Chaugham.
Onward now, and ever onward
Shall they go, all through the ages
To Eternity's last borders —
Sent by Peter Barber's anger
And his daughter's resolution.
Had she yielded to her father
Other souls would journey onward,
Who is there to judge between them?