BY ANNIE M. TOOHEY.
Lo, the old craft must soon drift adown the gray stream
Of Time's mystic currents, 'neath starlets agleam,
As oft 'mid its shivering passage away
Steals the voice of sweet Memory, luring its stay.
As we trace its swift course o'er the mystical stream
Strains of Spring and of Summer and Autumn yet seem
To thrill us betimes, though anon a chill blast
Strives to wreck the old craft ere its voyage be past.
And though its dim masts are all rent by the wind,
A lingering garland around them entwined
Of Christmastide blossoms yet sweetly we trace,
Ere the new craft shall launch in its beauty and grace.
Though treasures sank mute 'mid its drifting away,
As lonely lips pleaded them longer to stay,
To-night o'er the shadowy wreck of the old
We send them love-greetings in yonder blest fold.
Farewell, fading craft! At thy moorings beyond
May thy nearing be greeted by ecstasies fond,
That never shall cease at the harbor of Time,
Whose shoreland of glory re-echoes with chime.
Troy Times. December 30, 1911: 10 col 1.