Page 35

33
(Brooke Meadow).

near their coops will cure their vexatious habits
of wandering.

The Secy. had brought back from Mass. a
little poem by one of our much esteemed adopted
daughters, which was apparently highly appreciated.

It was composed between Laurel and “Homewood”,
on the evening of July 14th, 1906 and is entitled,

“The Old Laurel Road”.

“There are hills and stones on the old Laurel Road,
And sand as the sand by the sea,
But at the end of the old Laurel Road
Is a home very dear to me.

It is not fashioned in Queen Anne style
On lofty commanding site,
Not yet in old Colonial style
With pillars tall and white.

It boasts no stateliness without
Save that if its grand old trees,
No wonders of modern science within
That ministers to ease.

But around it tender memories cling
With beauty all their own,
As vines will lend a softening grace
To buildings overgrown.

Memories of dear ones who have passed
Beyond our loving gaze,
Who loved this home, its peaceful life,
And quiet country ways.

Visions of children at their play,
Now men and women grown,
Meeting life’s duties day by day
And guiding homes their own.

And so with all its ups and downs,
Its sandy stretch, its stones,
That picture life’s vicissitudes
It’s jars, its monotones;

Returning over land and sea

33
(Brooke Meadow).

near their coops will cure their vexatious habits
of wandering.

The Secy. had brought back from Mass. a
little poem by one of our much esteemed adopted
daughters, which was apparently highly appreciated.

It was composed between Laurel and “Homewood”,
on the evening of July 14th, 1906 and is entitled,

“The Old Laurel Road”.

“There are hills and stones on the old Laurel Road,
And sand as the sand by the sea,
But at the end of the old Laurel Road
Is a home very dear to me.

It is not fashioned in Queen Anne style
On lofty commanding site,
Not yet in old Colonial style
With pillars tall and white.

It boasts no stateliness without
Save that if its grand old trees,
No wonders of modern science within
That ministers to ease.

But around it tender memories cling
With beauty all their own,
As vines will lend a softening grace
To buildings overgrown.

Memories of dear ones who have passed
Beyond our loving gaze,
Who loved this home, its peaceful life,
And quiet country ways.

Visions of children at their play,
Now men and women grown,
Meeting life’s duties day by day
And guiding homes their own.

And so with all its ups and downs,
Its sandy stretch, its stones,
That picture life’s vicissitudes
It’s jars, its monotones;

Returning over land and sea