We thank you, old farm, forever
For the gift you have freely made
To the world and its hard endeavor,
Of the boys and the girls who played
On your beautiful hills and meadows,
Who digged in your kindly soil
And who learned in your sun and shadows
The lesson of honest toil.
We thank you for hands so ready
Their manifold tasks to do,
For minds that are keen and steady,
For hearts that are strong and true,
For people of lowly station,
For those who have won renown,
For the best who have served the nation
In the country and the town.
The Gifts of the Church (1922)
[Transcriber’s note: All verses are italicized.]
The dearest friends that life has known
In any time or place
Were made before the wondrous throne
Of mercy and of grace.
The bonds of brotherhood were wrought
In high communion there
Where we have walked with God in thought,
And bowed in common prayer.
The sweetest mem’ries of the years,
The joys most keen and true,
The kindest words that blessed our ears
The sanctuary knew.
The highest peaks our hearts have scaled,
The fairest roads we trod,
The hours by which all others paled
Were in the house of God.