Essex County herald. [volume] (Guildhall, Vt.) 1873-1964, 1902-10-24
CENTENNIAL POEM
WRITTEN BY MRS. r. r. CHANDLER

bring to me, my muse, the book of time,
In which the pictures of the bygone are cast
Bring me some magic pen, that may write
The changeful story OF the century past
How long, to us, D century, thy life has seeInedl
And yet how swiftly have the moments sped,
Since where green fields and vae and owery mead
The forest giant reared its stately head.
Now here and there humble arose.
Framed i'll tiny border of the broken sod,
And on this sacred spot where stand,
church, where all might come and worship COP.
No steeple, pointing upward to the skies,
No bell to wake the forest echoes deep,
Or galy ring the merry marriage chime,
Or sadly toll when loved ones fall asleep
But when the Sabbath morning
Broke DER the hills and valleys fair,
The early settlers turned their willing feet
With reverent steps towards the house of prayer
The father mounts his saddled steed
His wife climbs to the pilon seat
And DER the shady hills they ride
Till on the horseback rest their weary feet.
When this old church new, the carriages few,
With wooden axes underneath, secured by bolt and screw
They tucked their sweetheats behind when this old church
The maiden in her Sunday gown,
Designed and fashioned by her skill,
And woven by her own deft hand
Came lightly tripping up the HILL
When this old church new, the girls taught work,
And betde the uckess lass who dared her stint to irk
They gay sang the oltime songs while swift their fingers flew
Their grand piano spinning Wheel when this old church
The youth with homespun Sunday suit,
With shirt front ruffed right in style,
And focks of barefoot children too,
Come patterng up the narrow aisle
They seat themselves within the box-like pews,
And reverenty they close the door, and STILL
Then listen for the footballs of the old white nag,
That meekly bore their pastor up the hill
In front the pulpit stands beneath the sounding board
Where parson Willard at this early date
Dealt pills or sermons, as the might be-
While underneath the deacons sat in state.
High up, lofty gallery circled round,
Where maid and sweetheart if they cared, might meet
Midway between spacious space was left
And rightly christened as "the singers seat"
The chorster, with tuning fork in hand
Reads from the sacred book just two lines DER,
"Prase GoD from whom all blessings flow,
Praise Him all creatures here below"
The choir sings in slow and solemn tones,
Then rest their voices while he out two lines more
And now they listen to the long drawn prayer
With freezing feet, and aching fingers too,
The text from holy writ, and deep,
Drawn out to eghteenthy at least before It's through
But years roll on, and better homes are reared,
For them as now, progression wins the race,
The dear old church passed into other hands,
A new and finer came to take its place.
few short years ourished then the ends breath
Swept all its beauty and strength away,
But phoenix like from out its ashes rose
Another sacred house, in which meet today.
Dear father Gnes, for twenty years, more,
Led on this fock his memory still is here.
His santed partner, by his side,
To smooth his pathway, and his life to cheer