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by Emily D. Llewellyn

The old Meeting House is full of creaks,
Mild protests in the silence,
'Gainst a restless foot or a tortured soul
In the throes of a search for guidance.

One muses oft, in the quiet here.
Of the Friends who have gone before
Of the things they hoped and the things they dreamed,
All the years might hold in store.

We are the heirs of those votive years
Of the plans. the hopes, the dreams
Of the house they built so staunch and strong,
With its hand hewn pillars and beams.

The benches, too, are made for endurance,
Both for time and for the spirit of man.
Our forefathers' quest was for freedom in worship,
Not centered on comfort in the Meeting House plan.

But there is beauty in its simple proportions,
True and honest in every line
Conceived by a people whose inmost endeavor
Was to live a life single to God's design.

Are we worthily following in their footsteps?
Are we holding the course straight and true?
God grant us the wisdom to know His purpose,
And the daily courage to live for it. too.

So, as the years roll on and others are come
To give a labor of love in this sphere,
They, too, may sense its enfolding Grace,
But deepened through our sojourn here.

Live on, gentle spirits. in this house we love;
May the seed that ye here have sown
Guide our halting feet to the Tree of Life,
And the mansions promised to those of God's own.

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