Journal of Mary Phyllis Fisher - Thomas Davies

that goes on. Oh if my children will just be like Dad instead of me.
Sara and family were here for Christmas. They gave me a beautiful housecoat. It is warm and
pretty.
Erva is here in Cardston. She is staying at Harkers. She came to help them. Brother Harker is
in bed and Sister Harker is not able to do the work either. This evening Erva came over. Ren
was here and he asked her questions about her trip to the Holy Land and she told us all about it.
It was very interesting but Father says there are lots of places he’d like to go before going to the
Holy Land. He wants to do work for his dead relatives but he says he can’t get anything from
Salt Lake here. So he wants to go back to England. Erva lives in Vernon BC. Her son Ron is
about 40 years old, about the same age as Sally but I can’t think of Sally as being 40.
I want to record one of my favorite songs which I sang as a girl. I often sang it at people’s
request and at funerals, etc.
Verse 1
I went to the garden alone
While the dew was still on the roses.
And the voice I hear falling on my ear,
The son of God discloses.
Chorus And he walked with me
And he talked with me
And he tells me I am his own.
And the joy we share as we tarry there,
None other has ever known.
Verse 2 He speaks and the sound of his voice
Is so sweet the birds hush their singing,
And the melody that it brings to me
With in my heart is ringing.
Chorus
Verse 3 I stay in the garden alone
Though the dew around me is falling.
He bids me go through the sound of woe.
His voice to me is calling.
Chorus
My Father learned to play the piano a little. He woke us, his children, up in the morning by
singing ‘Before You Left Your Room This Morning, Did You Thing to Pray?’ He would play
with one finger on the organ and sing loudly so we could all hear. I’m sure the message was
placed deep in the hearts of his children ‘Before you left your room this morning, did you think
to Pray?’
My father’s mother, your grandfather and grandmother, Peirce and Sarah Fisher learned this
poem together and my mother taught it to me.
What God Hath Promised.
God hath not promised skies always blue,
Flowers strewn on the pathway
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