I've used FREE Artificial Intelligence tools to create biographies, poems and songs about my ancestors lives, genealogy research, and family history in the recent past. Today, I want to share a poem and a song about my second great-grandfather, James Abraham Kemp (1831-1902).
THE CARPENTER'S HANDS
Beneath the skies of Hillier’s green embrace,
On May the twenty-second, thirty-one,
A boy was born, the tenth in humble grace,
James Abraham, a farmer’s sturdy son.
With siblings ten, in Prince Edward’s wide land,
He grew 'mid fields, a Wesleyan at heart,
A laborer young, with calloused, eager hand,
In Ameliasburg, his story found its start.
To Norfolk then, ambition drew him near,
By five-and-fifty, seeking better days,
An innkeeper’s sign, a carpenter’s clear cheer,
Kemp’s Hotel rose proud in Fredericksburg’s haze.
With Mary Jane, his bride in sixty-one,
Five children came, their laughter filled the air—
Sarah, Seymour, Melvina, joy begun,
Georgianna, James, a lineage fair.
Yet sorrow struck, typhoid’s cruel decree,
Took Mary Jane in seventy-four’s dark spring,
A widower left, with five to raise, to be
Both father, mother, mending every sting.
But love returned, Melissa joined his side,
In seventy-six, at Bell Ewart they wed,
A builder still, with Alfred, joy revived,
A family forged where grief once fiercely tread.
Through Middleton’s broad township, years unfurled,
A carpenter’s craft in wood and nail took flight,
His faith held firm, Wesleyan’s quiet world,
Till Baptist hymns sang soft in Delhi’s night.
At sixty-nine, a farmer’s life he claimed,
With Melissa near, and children growing tall,
A life of toil, of love, of hands well-aimed,
In Norfolk’s soil, he answered nature’s call.
September nineteen, nineteen hundred-two,
The heart gave out, digestion’s sharp decline,
At seventy years, his earthly race ran through,
Melissa followed, nine days past the line.
In Delhi’s earth, with wives, he rests at peace,
A will to Alfred, care for widow’s years,
Five dollars each, to elder kin’s release,
A craftsman’s life, etched deep in love and tears
From inn to field, from chisel’s edge to plow,
James Abraham, a soul of grit and skill,
A joiner’s art, a father’s steadfast vow,
Lives on in tales where memory holds still.
THE CARPENTER'S HANDS
[Verse 1]Born in Hillier’s springtime glow, eighteen-thirty-one,Tenth of eleven, farmer’s kin, beneath Ontario’s sun.Fields of Prince Edward shaped his hands, a Wesleyan soul so true,A laborer’s life at twenty-one, with dreams he’d soon pursue.[Verse 2]To Delhi’s call he wandered far, by eighteen-fifty-five,An innkeeper’s sign, a carpenter’s pride, kept hope and hearth alive.With Mary Jane, he took his stand, five children blessed their years,But typhoid stole her gentle hand, left James with silent tears.[Chorus]Oh, James, you carved your way through time,From plank to plow, a steadfast climb,Through love and loss, your heart held sway,James Abraham, you built your day.[Verse 3]Melissa came, a second chance, in seventy-six they swore,A builder’s life in Norfolk’s span, with Alfred at their door.Through Middleton’s wide township green, his chisel found its song,A Wesleyan faith, then Baptist peace, where he’d always belong.[Chorus]Oh, James, you carved your way through time,From plank to plow, a steadfast climb,Through love and loss, your heart held sway,James Abraham, you built your day.[Verse 4]At sixty-nine, the fields he claimed, a farmer’s final stand,With Melissa near, his children grown, in Delhi’s quiet land.September brought his rest at last, nineteen hundred-two,Heart gave out, nine days she passed, two souls forever true.[Bridge]From inn to home, from wood to will,A craftsman’s mark on every hill,Five dollars left to elder kin,To Alfred’s care, his last begin—A life of grit, of sweat, of grace,James Abraham, your timeless place.[Chorus]Oh, James, you carved your way through time,From plank to plow, a steadfast climb,Through love and loss, your heart held sway,James Abraham, you built your day.[Outro]Now Delhi holds your resting ground, beside your loves so near,A joiner’s tale, a father’s sound, in stories we still hear.James Abraham, your road runs long, through wood and earth and stone,A life well-lived, a builder’s song, forever now your own.
4) These stories, told in verse and song, are part of my genealogy and family research. My hope is that they will be passed down to my grandchildren and their descendants to highlight the importance of sharing stories, memories, admiration, and love of our ancestors. I will add them to my Google Drive and to my YouTube channel and my FOREVER account.
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