hile He hung
And bore His pain so calm and meek.

At last the bird it flew away
And sought the shelter of its nest;
Its feathers dyed with crimson stain,
The Savior's blood upon its breast.

The lowly robin, so 'tis said,
That comes to us in early spring,
Is that which hovered near the cross
And wears for aye that crimson stain.

--Martha Creech

JENNIE WYLIE

Thomas Wiley, husband of Jennie Sellards Wylie, was a native of Ireland.
They lived on Walker's Creek in what is now Tazewell County, Virginia.
She was captured by the Indians in 1790. Her son Adam was sometimes
called Adam Pre Vard Wiley.

Among the hills of old Kentucky,
When homes were scarce and settlers few,
There lived a man named Thomas Wylie,
His wife and little children two.

They left their home in old Virginia,
This youthful pair so brave and strong.
And built a cabin in the valley
Where fair Big Sandy flows along.

Poor Thomas left his home one morning,
He kissed his wife and children dear;
He little knew that prowling Indians
Around his home were lurking near.

They waited in the silent woodland
Till came the early shades of night;
Poor Jennie and her young brother
Were seated by the fireside bright.

They peeped inside the little cabin
And saw the children sleeping there.
These helpless ones were unprotected
And Jennie looked so white and fair.

They came with tomahawks uplifted
And gave the war whoop fierce and wild;
Poor Jennie snatched her nursing baby;
They killed her brother--her oldest child.

They took poor Jennie through the forest
And while they laughed in fiendish glee,
A redskin took the baby from her
And dashed out its brains against a tree.

They traveled down the Sandy valley
Until they reached Ohio's shore;
They told poor Jennie she would never
See home or husband any more.