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The House on the Hill
During a recent Christmas season, my Mother gave each of us kids and our families an amazing gift – a written history of her parents, my grandparents, Gene and Norma Hess. Now either I had forgotten about it or did not pay much attention to it at the time, but recently I (re)discovered it and was absolutely enthralled by it. I couldn’t put it down. It excited me to read about these two individuals, whom I knew only in their later life, and see some of the struggles and joys that they experienced. I yearned for more. Some years back, some cousins had compiled some poetry that Grandma Hess had written during her life into a book. I brought that out again and started to read it. The title of the book and one of the poems was “The House on the Hill”. She wrote this poem while she and Grandpa were serving as missionaries in Louisiana in May 1969 (also see Stroll Thru Yesterday).
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| Soft pictures in my mind take me back in time... |
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After having read of some of her feelings first-hand in her history, these poems, and especially this one, had a deeper impact on me than ever before and I felt the desire to put some of those words to music. This was not easy. The words are beautiful, but I had to make a few changes to make them fit what I wanted (I hope you will understand, Grandma). I wrote the last verse and part of the chorus myself. I think much of the song can be applied universally, but the actual house described holds some wonderful memories for me, as we visited it about once a year while I was growing up. It was old and rickety and did not have all of the latest modern conveniences; it was probably not much to look at for anyone not aware of or connected to what it contained. I can still remember the warmth I felt there, mostly due to the love and acceptance that my grandparents offered to anyone that might appear on that front door step. The shelter found there was much more than physical. I hope that somewhere they can hear this song and that they approve. And I hope and pray that I can live my life in a way that might also meet with their approval.
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The House on the Hill
From a poem written by Norma Hess
While serving a mission with her husband in Louisiana May 1969
Adapted and put to music by Michael D. Squires (Grandson)
The house on the hill is silent, Standing lonely and dark and cold.
Passersby may not notice; They don’t know of the treasure it holds.
Not gold or silver or precious stones, For these too shall pass away,
Just a wealth of golden memories, Cherished more and more each day.
So house on the hill, keep my treasure safe.
Inside your memory lifts me up, and I know it always will.
Soft pictures in my mind, take me back in time
To when we all found shelter in the house on the hill.
The soft sweet laughter of dear little girls, As they reached with eager hands
To climb in my lap for a lullaby, Or a trip to storybook land.
Of rowdy, mischievous little boys, Too soon to men grown tall.
The sharp clear memory of sad farewells, When they answered their country’s call.
So house on the hill, keep my treasure safe.
Inside your memory lifts me up, and I know it always will.
Soft pictures in my mind, take me back in time
To when we all found shelter in the house on the hill.
The house on the hill is gone now, But it’s often on my mind.
And the bonds that we created there, Have withstood the test of time.
Like a light that prompts me onward, In my heart it stands there still.
And I’ll always gain strength from the lessons I learned, In that House On The Hill.
So house on the hill, keep my treasure safe.
Inside your memory lifts me up, and I know it always will.
Soft pictures in my mind, take me back in time
To when we all found shelter in the house on the hill.
And I still find shelter in that house on the hill…
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