|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