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Elizabeth (Woodberry) Story was born in Beverly, Massachusetts, on 2 December 1817, married Isaac Story in Beverly on 19 November 1846, and died in Somerville, Massachusetts, on 23 October 1888 at age 70. She is not actually related to us, as far as we know, but was a close friend of Elizabeth (Abbot) Bowditch from their early days growing up in Beverly. The two women corresponded for many years after Elizabeth Bowditch moved from Beverly to North Carolina after her marriage in 1845. (We have the originals of letters she wrote between 1848 and 1888. To see transcriptions of these letters, use the "Letters" menu item at the top of the page.)

The last letter we have, dated 15 June 1888, included the following two poems, described by her as "one to a friend who is losing her sight, the other to a friend who wrote wishing me home & speaking of my home."

To H. G. on the loss of her sight

Friend, is it dark around thee now?
It is the shadow of His wings;
Keep thou still, and listening wait,
For the whispered word He brings.

The earth is dark, but just beyond
The glimmer of a little light.
And soon the glory of thy Lord,
Shall burst on thine enraptured sight.

He shuts thee out, from all that would
Remove thy heart from His too much.
Oh draw thou near, and wait for Him,
So shalt thou feel His loving touch.

He bids thee come aside awhile,
And He draws near, with thee to stay.
Oh can'st thou not with Him abide,
Who turns thy darkness into day?

"So it is I, be not afraid."
"My peace I give," thy heart to cheer.
My love shall round about thee stay
Till thou shalt feel no doubt or fear.

Dear Savior yes, my heart is thine,
Do Thou according to Thy will;
Thy love shall more than all repay,
That love alone my heart shall fill.

To Mrs. L. H. P.

Thanks, dear Sister, for your note,
Like words of gold, in silver set,
Or like the rain on thirsty grass,
Those words of yours my vision met.

O'er Hill and vale my heart flies home,
To meet the dear ones waiting there.
Too slow the hours, too long the days,
That brings me not, that home to share.

I come, I come. One little week,
Shall see me back to thee once more.
What months of absence takes away,
One little week shall all restore.

Beauty is round me, none could ask,
A fairer sight to greet the eye.
Stretching before, on either side,
Of green and bleu, of sea and sky.

And loved ones too, my own, my own!
Are ever near my steps to guide,
Their voices sweet fall on my ear.
Blest be the home where I abide!

But my own home lies far away,
I turn to that with eager eye;
How dear my home ones seem today;
I long for wings, that I may fly.