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Article ON CHARITY. Page 1 of 1 Article STANZAS Page 1 of 1
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On Charity.
ON CHARITY .
WRITTEN ON DROPPING A MITE INTO BROTHER CRUCEFIx ' s BOX FOR "THE AGED MASON ' S ASYLUM . " THO' humble the tribute , my means let me give For the cause , take it welcome , ay , were it tenfold , — The pleasure most pure they enjoy while they live , Is , when Masons can share with the poor and the old . The mite of the widow , though valueless else ,
From her motive is wisely and highly esteemed , It tells of a spirit where charity dwells , More pure and more bright than in Croesus e ' er beam'd . Take , then , the slight offering—would it were more ! The only regret in a cause such as this One feels , is the lack of some miser ' s dark store , To make all who want it partake of its bliss . M . No . 1 , G . M . L .
Stanzas
STANZAS
TO THE MEMORY OF THE LATE HENRY O'BRIEN , ESQ ., B . A . Author of the " Round Towers of Ireland , " & c . & c . BY LEIGH CLIFFE , ESQ ., AUTHOR OP THE " SCEPTIC , " ETC . METHOUGHT a spirit , at the midnight hour , Shriek'd as it fled an old and sacred Tower In Erin ' s isle ; and then , responsively , The wild wind sung a requiem ; mournfully
The pale moon beam'd upon a lonely bed Where Death , unwatch'd by man , insidious spread His icy pall upon the flowing stream Of youth's full veins . I started at the dream , And knew that one my bosom prized was riven From earth to view the Cathoir Ghall * of heaven . Yet still I knew not whom—knew not what link Had snapp'd in friendship ' s chain ; who , on the brink
Of the vast space of dread eternity , Had stood and fallen ! Soon I found ' twas he , The young O'Brien , who had shed a light O ' er the past ages , long immersed in night ; And won a proud , a never-dying name , In the long annals of his country ' s fame . Dear valued friend ! though from thy father-land
Inurn'd thou sleep ' st , the gentle fostering hand Of Friendship o ' er thy lowly grave shall cast The heart ' s fair flowers , in memory of the past . Thy Bana-ba shah mourn thy early doom , And wreathe her cypress round thy humble tomb . While the fresh violet blooms around the sod Where sleeps my friend , beloved of man and God .
Note: This text has been automatically extracted via Optical Character Recognition (OCR) software.
On Charity.
ON CHARITY .
WRITTEN ON DROPPING A MITE INTO BROTHER CRUCEFIx ' s BOX FOR "THE AGED MASON ' S ASYLUM . " THO' humble the tribute , my means let me give For the cause , take it welcome , ay , were it tenfold , — The pleasure most pure they enjoy while they live , Is , when Masons can share with the poor and the old . The mite of the widow , though valueless else ,
From her motive is wisely and highly esteemed , It tells of a spirit where charity dwells , More pure and more bright than in Croesus e ' er beam'd . Take , then , the slight offering—would it were more ! The only regret in a cause such as this One feels , is the lack of some miser ' s dark store , To make all who want it partake of its bliss . M . No . 1 , G . M . L .
Stanzas
STANZAS
TO THE MEMORY OF THE LATE HENRY O'BRIEN , ESQ ., B . A . Author of the " Round Towers of Ireland , " & c . & c . BY LEIGH CLIFFE , ESQ ., AUTHOR OP THE " SCEPTIC , " ETC . METHOUGHT a spirit , at the midnight hour , Shriek'd as it fled an old and sacred Tower In Erin ' s isle ; and then , responsively , The wild wind sung a requiem ; mournfully
The pale moon beam'd upon a lonely bed Where Death , unwatch'd by man , insidious spread His icy pall upon the flowing stream Of youth's full veins . I started at the dream , And knew that one my bosom prized was riven From earth to view the Cathoir Ghall * of heaven . Yet still I knew not whom—knew not what link Had snapp'd in friendship ' s chain ; who , on the brink
Of the vast space of dread eternity , Had stood and fallen ! Soon I found ' twas he , The young O'Brien , who had shed a light O ' er the past ages , long immersed in night ; And won a proud , a never-dying name , In the long annals of his country ' s fame . Dear valued friend ! though from thy father-land
Inurn'd thou sleep ' st , the gentle fostering hand Of Friendship o ' er thy lowly grave shall cast The heart ' s fair flowers , in memory of the past . Thy Bana-ba shah mourn thy early doom , And wreathe her cypress round thy humble tomb . While the fresh violet blooms around the sod Where sleeps my friend , beloved of man and God .