Victor Roy, a Masonic Poem by Harriet Annie Wilkins
page 37 of 91 (40%)
page 37 of 91 (40%)
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Began in so-called play, and closed with life.
I know for many months a namless dread, Hung like the sword of Damocles overhead, And we again had crossed the stormy main And hid away among the hills of Spain, But when you were an infant, nurse and I Took you one morning ere the sun was high, And in the little church covered with vines, O'er which the setting sun in glory shines, We gave you into the good Shepherd's Care Amid our falling tears and Heaven sent prayer; And there without respect to friends or foes, Stands your true name, Ethel Adair Montrose. My child before you close your eyes to-night, With no forebodings for to-morrow's light, Return your heartfelt thanks to Him whose hand Has led us safely through a desert land, Has kept our feet on many a slippery way, And guided us from midnight to the day, Lay at the Glorious Giver's blessed feet, All that he asks, your time that passes fleet, Your heart's first holiest love, your talents give To him who scorned not death, that we may live." Mother, I'll not forget, To ask rich blessings upon you and him, Whom God sent as a life boat to the lost, A year ago to-night, when on the dim Dark seas of woe, our bark was tempest toss'd, The sun of hope had set. |
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