Alonzo L Rice (1867-1946) | WikiTree FREE Family Tree

Alonzo L Rice

Born 8 Jun 1867 in Shelby, Indiana, United States

Ancestors

Son of James C Rice and Elizabeth (Branson) Rice

Brother of Henry E Rice, Cassander Rice, Lavina (Rice) Town, Adaline (Rice) Ash and Landy B Rice

[spouse(s) unknown]

[children unknown]

Died 16 Dec 1946 at age 79 in Jefferson, Indiana, United States

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Profile last modified 13 Sep 2021

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Biography

The New York Times Wednesday, December 18, 1946

Indiana Poet, School Teacher and Farmer Is Dead at 79

Special to THE NEW YORK TIMES. SHELBYVILLE, Ind., Dec. 17 --- Alonzo L. Rice, rural Indiana writer, died yesterday at the State Hospital in Madison, where he had been a patient for the last three years. His age was 79. Mr. Rice, a farmer and shcool teacher, published "Sunways of Song" thirty years ago, and his "Our Little Girl Who Died Without a Name" was set to music. "God Bless the Eyes of Little Birds" was another verse which received wide reprinting. He leaves a widow, Anna Wertz Rice. Contribued by Michael Kirley

The Shelbyville Republican Tuesday December 17, 1946 Page 1 column 6

ALONZO RICE, SHELBY COUNTY’S OWN POET ARRIVES AT END OF ROAD

Alonzo L. Rice, whose poetry graced the pages of hundreds of magazines and newspapers throughout the nation for a score of years, died Monday at the state hospital at Madison where he had been a patient for the past three years. As word of his death came to his home county, scores of older residents of the community recalled the many sentimentally-beautiful poems which gained him widespread fame in his younger days. Such Poems, “Our Little Girl Who died Without A Name” – which later was set to music – and “God Closes The Eyes of Little Birds,” set Rice aside in the large group of Hoosier penmen who have given Indiana a reputation as one of the principal spawning grounds of the nation’s men of letters. “Sunways of Song,” a collection of his poems published in book form, first brought acclaim to the Union township resident who at that time was a school teacher, and in the years that followed he was a steady contributor to many magazines and newspapers. Income from his verse was a matter of little moments to the quiet and modest school teacher and he wrote purely for the love of writing, offering his verse to any taker without thought of possible remuneration. Scores of his poems have been published in the local newspapers and in other Indiana publications and, in the years when his mind was keen and his thoughts channeled continuously in a poetic vein, few holidays or other special occasions passed without drawing a timely – and usually keen – composition from his facile pen. Innumerable times his poems have graced the columns of this Shelbyville Republican, offered without expectation of compensation, merely as a medium of self-expression. He was, in addition a contributor to many folksy columns in the state newspapers. His Book of Poems, “Sunways,” was published about 30 years ago, before he retired from the teaching profession in Union township. His prolific pen continued active for a score of years after that. In the past decade, however, he had gradually given up his writing as the infirmities of old age and ill health came upon him. He was seventy-nine years old. Mr. Rice was the son of James C. and Elizabeth Rice and was born June 8, 1867. In his youth he attended several terms at old Central Normal College at Danville and entered the teaching profession in his native Union township. He was married to Anna Wertz and their home was at the old Rice homestead in Union township. The widow, who is a patient at Madison, is the only immediate survivor. There are three grand nieces. Three brothers and two sisters preceded him in death. Funeral services will be held at the Little Blue River Baptist Church, of which he was a member at 10:00 a.m. Thursday. The Rev. Jess McKeny, pastor, will officiate and burial will be made at the Bennett cemetery in charge of L. V. Hauk, Morristown funeral director. Friends may call at the Hauk funeral home at any time. Contributed by Barb Huff for Ron Rice, Michael Kirley and Conny Green

The Atlanta Constitution November 21, 1909.

How brief the stay, as beautiful as fleeting. The time that baby came with us to dwell; Just long enough to give a happy greeting. Just long enough to bid us all farewell. Death travels down the thickly settled highway, At shining marks they say he loves to aim; How did he find far down our lonely by-way, Our little girl who died without a name?

She seemed so like a tender bird whose winglets, Are broken by the stress of rain and storm. With loving care we pressed the golden ringlets, And wondered could there be so fair a form; For death had chiseled without pause or falter Each feature that the sunny tresses frame; No change of scene nor length of time can alter Our little girl who died without a name.

We do not know the fond endearment spoken To which she listened when she fell asleep. And so, beside a column that was broken, We laid her to her slumber calm and deep. We traced upon the stone with loving fingers These simple words, affection's tear to claim: "In dreams, beyond all earthly sorrow, lingers Our little girl without a name.

Close folded there within the Bible hidden, A flower fades that withered on her breast; Upon the page where such as she are bidden To seek the circle of His arms for rest. "Of such a kingdom," comes to us as sweetly, Those little ones without a touch of blame; We know He shelters in His love completely, Our little girl who died without a name.

She sleeps serene where fragrant mossy willows In sweet and workless tunes forever wave And summer seas in long and grassy billows Break into bloom around her lonely grave. In memory's hall now many heroes slumber, We gild their deed upon the scroll of fame; We treasure far above this mighty number Our little girl who died without a ----- Alonzo Rice. Contributed by Michael Kirley

The Indianapolis Sunday Star February 14, 1923 Page 11

poem by Alonzo L. Rice, Shelbyville, Ind.

HERALDS

It seemed I knew the way my loved one chose; I knew by some dim prescience undefined: Nor could I err; the sweetness of the rose Is herald of its beauty to the blind. The knowledge of her charming presence came. A fair revealment to me, like the thought Of haunting music; turning we hear the same Sweet melody along the breezes brought.

Contributed by Janet McColley Franklin