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The "Rose of Sharon", whose perennial bloom
Shed fragrance o'er our pathway, over sweet;
(Sarah B. Staller, 1886)

And she of "Longwood" who with busy hands
Was minister to sorrow's suffering brood
Unknown to all save those who felt her care;
(Mary B. Hall, 1886)

And he who once amid the "Cedars" lived,
His pure, refined and cultivated heart
So full of love for all created things;
Who saw in field and wood and starry depths
The "constant revelation of a God";
([W?] Henry Earquhar, 1887)

All these have left us since our way began.

And last of all, when winter ruled the year,
And snow lay on our hearts as on the earth,
We mourned for him whose busy mind first planned
Our dear Society, whose loving heart
Mid scenes of civil strife called old and young
To Nature's beauties - to the arts of peace.
The flowers he loved so well shall bloom again,
But Ah! His form no more shall grace the scene.
And yet he lives, and daily comforts us!
His patient gentleness, his earnest soul,
His manly dignity, his love of truth,