Classic Poem

These walls are tottering to decay,
There's dampness on the stair;
But well I mind me of the day
When two score men met here;
When two score Brothers met at night,
The full, round moon above,
To weave the mystic chain of light
With holy links of love.

But now the lightest of the train
In early grave is bowed;
The chain is broke, the holy chain,—
The M ASTER'S with his God !
The wailing notes were heard one day,
Where cheerful songs are best,
And two score Brothers bore away
Their M ASTER to his rest.

The S OUTH , that pleasant voice, is still,
That spoke the joys of noon;
The W EST , that told the Master's will,
Has set, as sets the sun.
The sun may rise, may stand, may fall,
But these will stand no more,—
No more the faithful Craft to call,
Or scan their labors o'er.

I'll weep the rending of this chain,
As J ESUS wept His love!
This haunted spot! what shall restrain
The tears these memories move?
Where two score Brothers met at night,
There's solitude and gloom;
Let grief its sacred train invite
To this old haunted room.