| A TRIBUTE TO MANSFIELD FOLK |
| We came as strangers, and settled down |
| To dwell within this city’s gates, |
| And as we came, disease and death |
| Stalked at our very heels to wait, |
| Until such time as easy prey should come |
| Within its treacherous grasp; |
| And then its ravages began |
| To tear our hearts and souls aghast. |
|
| With cruel haste it snatched from |
| Out our arms; our loveliest child. |
| It left us dumb to prayer and feelings |
| Numb, save grief so wild |
| That were it not for those it still |
| Held in relentless pain, |
| It would have relieved our hearts |
| To wish for sleep’s eternal calm. |
|
| Each morn the bell would ring, |
| And o’er the sounding wires |
| Would come, a sweet, sweet voice, |
| Full of deep-felt inquiries; |
| Strange, sweet voices, to whom |
| We could give no name. |
| No form or face could grace this voice, |
| Our ears could but entrain. |
| But the heartfelt sympathy and feelings |
| Of neighborly love were given; |
| Consoling words and hopes, gave us |
| Back our faith and hope in Heaven. |
|
| We were prisoners in our home. |
| For many and many a day; |
| With some of our little ones parted from us, |
| Who on beds of sickness lay. |
| And one of our littlest ones were we denied |
| Her wants to care, |
| That we might shield those who escaped |
| From this great monster’s lair. |
|
| Yet morning and night the little bell |
| Attached to the sounding wires, |
| Would ring, and the voices of kind-hearted |
| Folk would call with loving inquiries; |
| And we learned anew what the dear |
| Christ taught, of those wonderful words of help; |
| When He begged us all on this earth |
| To love our neighbor as ourself. |
| |
| Mrs. Allen H. Albe |
Tri-County
Local Poetry
