Note: This text has been automatically extracted via Optical Character Recognition (OCR) software.
Poetry.
POETRY .
AN ADDRESS , FOR THE TWEFTH ANNIVERSARY FESTIVAL , IN AID OP THE ASYLUM POR AGED FREEMASONS , HELD ON THE 16 TH JUNE , 1847 , IN FREEMASONS' HALL .
WHEN some grand structure , falling to decay , Rocks ' neath the winds that ' mid its turrets play—Tho ' " late the Storm King with his frantic train Swept all unheeded thro' the mighty fane—How mourn ye , and with pitying pious care Strive once again the lordly pile to
rear!—With veneration prop its ancient walls , Give strength and soundness to its mould'ring halls ; Preserve with reverent hand each Coigne , to tell The builders' care had mark'd its Order well : — Then gaze with raptur'd eye from Base to Crown , Content so well to earn a proud renown . . . .
Lo ye ! God s noblest edifice—a white hair'd sage-Totters beneath Time ' s storms in want and age , Fast sinking to decay , whose touch uncouth Mars , one by one , the glories of his youth—His tow ' ring stature , and his strength of frame That seem'd immortal as JEHOVAH ' name ; The lorn survivor of the loved and young , Haply , his heart by wrongs or treachery wrung ,
His bent form trembling ' neath the chills of woe , Adown his furrowed cheek the salt tears flow : The rude winds sport amid his scanty hairs , The young—the jocund—seldom heed his prayers !
But once it was not so : —his nervous form Could well sustain life ' s changing sky , and storm ;—His open hand was stretch'd to aid the weak , His step was first misfortune ' s haunts to seek , His heart was kindly as the genial sun ; But now his useful race is nearly run . His form ye cannot renovate again , Nor o ' er Destruction ' s work success attain ;
For it will steal , remorseless—span by span—Till it has made its own the clay of man ! But round the noble ruin ye can raise Fair walls , to shelter in its failing days—Like some loved relic of imperial Rome , Shrine it within the precincts of a HOME !
Note: This text has been automatically extracted via Optical Character Recognition (OCR) software.
Poetry.
POETRY .
AN ADDRESS , FOR THE TWEFTH ANNIVERSARY FESTIVAL , IN AID OP THE ASYLUM POR AGED FREEMASONS , HELD ON THE 16 TH JUNE , 1847 , IN FREEMASONS' HALL .
WHEN some grand structure , falling to decay , Rocks ' neath the winds that ' mid its turrets play—Tho ' " late the Storm King with his frantic train Swept all unheeded thro' the mighty fane—How mourn ye , and with pitying pious care Strive once again the lordly pile to
rear!—With veneration prop its ancient walls , Give strength and soundness to its mould'ring halls ; Preserve with reverent hand each Coigne , to tell The builders' care had mark'd its Order well : — Then gaze with raptur'd eye from Base to Crown , Content so well to earn a proud renown . . . .
Lo ye ! God s noblest edifice—a white hair'd sage-Totters beneath Time ' s storms in want and age , Fast sinking to decay , whose touch uncouth Mars , one by one , the glories of his youth—His tow ' ring stature , and his strength of frame That seem'd immortal as JEHOVAH ' name ; The lorn survivor of the loved and young , Haply , his heart by wrongs or treachery wrung ,
His bent form trembling ' neath the chills of woe , Adown his furrowed cheek the salt tears flow : The rude winds sport amid his scanty hairs , The young—the jocund—seldom heed his prayers !
But once it was not so : —his nervous form Could well sustain life ' s changing sky , and storm ;—His open hand was stretch'd to aid the weak , His step was first misfortune ' s haunts to seek , His heart was kindly as the genial sun ; But now his useful race is nearly run . His form ye cannot renovate again , Nor o ' er Destruction ' s work success attain ;
For it will steal , remorseless—span by span—Till it has made its own the clay of man ! But round the noble ruin ye can raise Fair walls , to shelter in its failing days—Like some loved relic of imperial Rome , Shrine it within the precincts of a HOME !