Fit to furbish fire departments with the most substantial aid;
All things unappreciated found this night their true vocation
In the Museum of Relics, known as Elder Lamb’s Donation.
There were biscuits whose material was their own secure defense;
There were jellies undissected, there were mystery=laden pies;
There was bread that long had waited for the signal to arise,
There were cookies tasting clearly of their drear and musty past;
There were doughnuts that in justice ‘mong the metals might be classed
There were chickens, geese and turkeys that had long been on probation,
Now received in full connections at old Elder Lamb’s Donation.
Then they gave his wife a wrapper made for someone not so tall,
And they brought him 20 slippers, every one of which was small;
And they covered him with sack cloth, as it were in various bits,
And they clothed his helpless children in a wardrobe of misfits;
And they trimmed his house with “Welcome” and some bric-a-brackish trash.
And some absent-minded brother brought five dollars all in cash!
Which the good old pastor handled with a trill of exultation,
Wishing that in filthy lucre might have come his whole donation.
Morning came at last in splendor; and the Elder, wrapped in gloom,
Knelt amid decaying produce, and the ruins of his home;
And his piety had never till that morning been so bright;
For he prayed for those who brought him to that unexpected plight,
But some worldly thought intruded; for he wandered o’er and o’er
If they’d buy that day at auction what they gave the night before;
And his fervent prayer concluded with the natural exclamation;
“Take me to Thyself in mercy, Lord before my next donation!”
Sent by A.M.C., Amesbury Mass