Classic Poem

No more to grieve for pleasures gone,
For broken hopes no more,
We leave the outer world forlorn,
And close the Olive Door.

The Tree of Peace, whose holy leaf
The gentle Tyler bore;
It ranked in Eden's bloom the chief,
And made the Olive Door.

When brother-hands, on Aaron's head,
The holy oil did pour,
The Olive of its fatness shed,
And made the Olive Door.

So may we find unfailing Peace,
And Plenty's utmost store;
May God His plenteousness increase,
Within the Olive Door.

We gather round the Altar here,
With spirits gone before,
And join the hand, in union dear,
Within the Olive Door.