We come, but not to celebrate,
Amid the flight and whirl of years,
The deeds of heroes, on whose brows
Are laurels, drenched with blood and tears.
Nor yet to tell of wondrous deeds,
Performed on fields of bloodless strife;
But of the lovely, precious things,
That bless and beautify our life.
And from the annals of the poor,
We would unfold a shining page;
And tell of kindly hands that smoothed
The rugged path of faltering age.
To shelter those who long have borne
Life’s chilling storms and searching heat,
In restful homes, with love alight,
What charity more pure and sweet?
But not beneath this spacious Home
Was laid the first foundation stone,
But in the hearts that learned to feel
For woman, stricken, old and lone.
To Hall and Truman, Still and Laing,
Was given power to aid and bless;
And, faithful to her sacred charge,
Constant and helping, stood Ann Jess.
May Sarah Pennock, whose kind hand
Has often brought the “Home” relief,
Feel life replete with God’s great peace;
Find light in darkness, joy in grief.
Custodian of the generous purse,
May Israel Johnson long remain;—
And reach at last the happy land,
Where faithful service meets its gain.
And join again departed forms
Of wife and sister passed before;
Who gave their treasure to the Lord,
By generous gifts unto His poor.
And some who met with us erewhile,
Have passed unto the other side;—
Like precious fragrance, may their deeds
Within our heart of hearts abide.
Year after year, within these halls,
Did Dillwyn Parrish faithful stand;—
Till He “who gives his loved ones sleep”
Released, in death, his helpful hand.
Of those who scattered flowers fair
Around the verge of parting life,
We would record with grateful words,
The names of Stephen Smith and wife.
Whose hands, enriched with golden store,
Gave of their wealth to build this “Home,”
And changed a narrow domicile,
Into a grand and stately dome.—
Oh! when our earthly homes shall fail
And vanish from our fading sight,
May friends and patrons meet again
In God’s fair halls of love and light.
Where homeless ones shall never weep,
Nor weary aged wanderers roam;—
But walk amid the golden streets,
Secure within our Father’s home.