Annals of our ancestors; one hundred and fifty years of history in the ...

ANNALS OF OUR ANCESTORS
I clasp them in my hands grown old,
They tell a tale to me;
I see that scholar and man of books
And the great mind through these made free.
They are laid aside, for Heaven's light
He can bear in his home above,
He sees all clear that he longed to see
In the Realm of Eternal Love.
But I cherish these tiny windows of glass
Through which his pages cleared,
Which gave to my father the food he craved
When the words of books appeared.
And so, is it strange I sit with my eyes
On visions vi'hich long ago fell.
And that thoughts they waken within my brain
My lips nor my pen cannot tell ?
— Adelaide Gail Frost.