USA > New York > Onondaga County > Pompey > Addresses delivered at the centennial anniversary of the First Congregrational Church, Pompey, N. Y. June 21st-23rd, 1896 : together with a historical sketch of the church > Part 7
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Nay, nay ! this thy harvest of other men's labors is thy seed-corn to sow the world with, that other men may reap in due time, also. Would'st thou make thy harvest, the last ? Shall the sickles of the next generation lie rust- eaten because the grain lies hoarded in thy bin ? Would'st thou breed a famine of the bread of noble deeds and words by which men live? Thy measure of privilege and of obligation towards the world is the measure of thy inheritance, plus what you can make of it. Hoarded
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CONTINUITY OF LIFE AND INFLUENCE.
gold gathers no interest; wheat in mummy chests, ripens into 10 harvest. Scatter that and then men may reap even as thou dost. Labor, that when thou goest the way of all the earth, there may be something worth while for other men to enter into.
This is the great incentive to the realization or life's end in the family, in society and in the church of God. We need sense to see it and grace to use it-and all as parts of our great whole not yet disclosed-all as bear- ing upon the one, enduring kingdom of our Lord Christ, of whom the whole family in heaven and in earth are named. This it is that gives significance to such an an- niversary as this. And while we duly honor the past, let us be more concerned to honor the future. The record of the past is made. The future we help to shape.
Reminiscences and Parting Words.
BY DR. R. F. STEVENS.
This building was erected in 1817, I think, and the beautiful vane that tips the steeple was forged by Merit Butler, the father of the present postmaster of the vil- lage, and it was gilded by my father, Hezekiah W. Ste- vens. It shone beautifully as a beacon in the sunshine and could be seen for miles around for more than seventy years, when some vandal of a painter gave it a dull, vel- low coat. But his attempt at improvement was as unsuc- cessful as modern attempts to improve Old Hundred.
The lightning rod attached to the steeple undoubtedly once saved the church from destruction, when a heavy bolt was safely conducted to the earth.
On one occasion, as religious services were terminating, a white dove flew into the church through an open win- dow, and as the benediction was being pronounced the bird was sailing round and round over the heads of the congregation1.
The custom of tolling the church bell slowly on the oc- currence of a death in the neighborhood, and finishing the tolling by as many rapid strokes as the number of years of the deceased, was continued until a recent date.
The church choir used to be stationed in the gallery-
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REMINISCENCES AND PARTING WORDS.
chorister in the center, the lady singers at his right, and the bass at his left.
He led the singing by the loud tones of his heavy voice, and beating the time with his right arm. I remember hearing the minister-Rev. Mr. Barrows-severely re- buke one of the young lady singers for eating an apple during the delivery of his sermon.
In looking over the congregation I see many whose faces were familiar in my early days. But there is one present whom I would especially delight to honor. She has passed the fourscore milestone of her life-she was a beautiful girl-she was lively and brilliant in her young ladyhood-and has passed through her long life a highly cultured and greatly respected lady-Miss Julia Jerome -otherwise Mrs. Julia Finley.
And I wish to especially honor another accomplished lady present to-night-Miss Esther A. Clapp, otherwise Mrs. Thomas M. Dorwin. She was a bright light among the young people of her neighborhood-her brilliant letters adorn the pages of the noted Pompey re-union book,-and as the years of her eventful life pass on, she carries with her the unqualified esteen of all who have the pleasure of her acquaintance.
I could name many others worthy of especial mention, but I refrain.
My hand rests upon the old church bible that was pre- sented to this church by the wife of Henry Seymour-the inother of the late Gov. Horatio Seymour. I will read a text found in the book of Exodus,. "Thou shalt have no other gods before me." I will also read from St. Luke's
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POMPEY CENTENNIAL ADDRESSES.
gospel, "And Jesus said unto him, no man, having put his hand to the plough, and looking back, is fit for the kingdom of God." The admonitions of these texts are but a sample of the far-reaching inculcations that fill the pages of this wonderful book.
As we meet on this pleasant and profitable occasion, and partake of the hospitality and friendship of brethren at home, we must not fail to acknowledge the beneficent hand of Providence.
We have met not only to do honor to this centennial church, but to foster and perpetuate fraternal attachment to the place of our nativity. We have been met with open doors-with open hearts and outstretched arms of a generous welcome. And may this heaven-born feeling endure so long as beautiful old Pompey Hill retains its verdure, and sends forth its sparkling streams that make it-to us-the most delightful spot on earth.
To Members and Friends of this old Church :-
The difficult and almost painful duty has fallen upon me of extending a farewell to you who have honored us by an invitation to come from our several distant homes, to revisit the scenes of our childhood,-to hold a centen- nial jubilee of this church, -and to renew the acquain- tances and enioy reminiscences of the church and our early life. I always feel a deep regret at being compelled to say farewell,-but some are here to-night who will, for the last time give you the parting hand. Days of the long since have not passed without our remembering with pride this grand old Hill and surrounding valleys, which have been beautiful-
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REMINISCENCES AND PARTING WORDS.
ly referred to at this time. We have always taken pride in this our early-day home, and in contemplation of the life and doings and record for a hundred years, of this old church whose honorable founders have long been sluin- bering under burial sods at the pinnacle of the hill. And while life lasts this hill will be remembered as a monu- ment of the blessings conferred upon the community of this historic place,-and when our heads are laid in the grave and we have passed away and are forgotten, we hope the children and the children's children will say that here we have fittingly celebrated the Centennial of the Organization of the First Congregational Church in Pont- pey. This old Hill Monument shall stand and be revered so long as the foot-stool of the earth remains.
And friends, dear friends, we have been greatly hon- ored by your call upon us to be present on this occasion. We must give you the parting hand. We hope these scenes will be remembered and cherished and live on in the memory of childhood,-of the homes we all have loved, -- and of the friends who here have been greeted. Some of us will now leave you forever, but you will not be forgotten. Prayers will go up to heaven that our fathi- er's God may ever be your only God. We hope the pres- ent members of this church will not forget that in the early days, -a hundred years ago-it was the domestic hearth, the humble school house, and largely the teach- ings by this church from the bible -- our father's bible- that formed the characters and guided the lives of the no- ble fathers and mothers of those days; that made it possi- ble that the town of Pompey should send forth a host of
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POMPEY CENTENNIAL ADDRESSES.
people whose high standing in various public positions has given it an enviable historic repute.
"The Bible, -the volume of God's inspiration, At noon and at evening, could yield us delight,
And the prayer of our sire was a sweet invocation,
For mercy by day, and for safety through night.
Our hymns of thanksgiving, with harmony swelling, All warm from the heart of a family band,
Half raised us from earth to that rapturous dwelling,
Described in the Bible that lay on the stand,-
The old-fashioned Bible, -the dear blessed Bible, The family Bible that lay on the stand."
Don't forget this old bible, which has been not only the chart of our liberties, but has given to old Pompey the high reputation it has enjoyed from its earliest days as a place of good people,-the mother of great and able statesmen,-the home of prosperous farmers and the seat of high and excellent education.
And now to your committee,-fathers, mothers, broth- ers, sisters, friends and the good old church, we say, "Thank you-God bless you-Farewell."
The Old Church Speaks.
POEM WRITTEN BY MRS. CHAS. CLEMENTS .- READ BY MISS ENNIE A. JEROME.
I hear them say I'm one , . years old, Then surely, I may make so bold- My Tale to tell. One hundred years! the time doth seem- In retrospect, so like a dream, And yet so real.
I bid you all a welcome true, With open door and open pew This Festal Day. My heart with pride and joy doth thrill, That I've been called this place to fill, One hundred years-they say.
I'll take you with me now dear friends, As o'er the road my memory tends --- To backward flow. Back to the time when I was young, When I had but just into being sprung- One hundred years ago.
How proud my people were of me then, So glad for a place of worship, and when - My bell pealed forth; A goodly band of worshipers came, To hear the good "Parson" the word proclaim, Of peace and truth.
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POMPEY CENTENNIAL ADDRESSES.
The Choir no organ had, to raise The key-note of the hymn of praise, But tuning fork and ear; Then how they sang !- as with one voice; I know the Angels did rejoice- Such melody to hear.
With feelings of Sadness and joy to-day, I recall the lives long since passed away, To their rest and reward. The God-chosen men who once filled this place Speaking comforting words of Mercy and Grace From His chosen word.
On these Tablets of Stone their names are enrolled And if each, could to-day their experience unfold What a history 'twould be. Of more interest by far, than all I can tell, For theirs was the " Heart "-I'm only the Shell Which enshrined them-you see.
Not all have passed to their work-" beyond," A few are left, who to-day respond - To my Birth Day Call. And last but not least in the ranks is he- Who ever loved and esteemed by this people shall be Their Pastor-J. C. Ball.
Yes-Many discouraging times I have seen, When thro' the dark clouds there has been scarce a gleam Of Comfort or cheer. But the faith of my people has always been strong, And their heart spoken prayers were answered ere long When hope banished fear.
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THE OLD CHURCH SPEAKS.
My frame is old but my heart is young, Despite the trials thro' which I've come- Since one hundred years ago- So good hath God been in His mercy to me, All down thro' the years His goodness I see, And with my heart. aglow
With joy and thanksgiving to His Name, This day I renew my youth again, And new courage take. And if it shall be the good Lord's will, That another Century this place I fill, No complaint I'll make.
But trust that His goodness, Mercy and Love, Will each coming year as faithful prove, As in those of the past. And when, 'neath Times' fingers, to dust and decay, This old frame shall totter and crumble away Into Oblivion cast;
The good works of those who have toiled 'neath this dome Shall have only begun to live-and on- Through the years to come, Ah yes, and on through Eternity too, Their works shall follow and be ever new In the Heavenly Home.
And now, is it any wonder, kind friends, That on this glad day my memory tends- To back ward flow. Back to the time when I was young Back-when the Choir with tune fork sung One hundred years ago !
(A MEMBER.)
When Old Pompey's Sons are Gone.
BY MRS. SMITH ORDWAY .- DUETT SUNG BY REV. AND MRS. ¿SMITH ORDWAY.
When the children have departed, When the fathers are no more, When the Master's call has sounded On the everlasting shore, When life's weary march is ended,
When we sleep the slumber long, Who will tell the world the story When Old Pompey's sons are gone ?
CHORUS:
Who will tell the world the story When Old Pompey's sons are gone? Who will tell the world the story When Old Pompey's sons are gone?
Who will tell about the great ones, Born in Pompey's air so free; Who will hail, and wait, and listen For their rhyme and melody? Who will join to swell the chorus, That we sung in years now gone, Who will tell the world the story When Old Pompey's sons are gone ?
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WHEN OLD POMPEY'S SONS ARE GONE.
Who will tell of our Horatio, As the ruler of our state; How he won both fame and glory, And will live among the great. How he lived a life of honor, How he watched and waited long, Who will tell the world the story When Old Pompey's sons are gone?
Who will tell of Dr. Haydn, Of the Woodfords and Jeromes, Of the Birdseyes, Wells and Bakers When they all are gathered home, How they lifted high Christ's banner, How they fought against the wrong. Who will tell the world the story, When Old Pompey's sons are gone ?.
Who will tell of wives and mothers, Toiling early, toiling late Who will rise to fill their places And raise up the good and great ? Who will tell of sacrifices, To make church and country strong, Who will tell the world the story When Old Pompey's sons are gone ?
Will our children's children tell it, That the younger ones may know That their grandsires here were Christians Though so many years ago? Will they cherish this old church spire, Will they learn to love it long ? They will tell the world the story, When Old Pompey's sons are gone.
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POMPEY CENTENNIAL ADDRESSES.
CHORUS: (for last verse. )
Yes, they'll tell the world the story When Old Pompey's sons are gone, Yes, they'll tell the world the story When Old Pompey's sons are gone.
Auld Lang Syne.
WORDS BY DR. RICHARD F. STEVENS, AS WITTEN FOR AND SUNG AT THE POMPEY REUNION, JUNE 29tl1, 1871.
Should auld acquaintance be forgot, . And never brought to mind ? Should auld acquaintance be forgot, And days of auld lang syne? For auld lang syne we meet to-day, For auld Lang syne ; To tread the paths our fathers trod In days of auld lang syne.
We've passed through many varied scenes, Since youth's unclouded day ; And friends, and hopes, and happy dreams, Time's hand hath swept away. And voices that once joined with ours, In days of auld lang syne, Are silent now, and blend no more, In songs of auld lang syne.
Vet ever has the light of liope, Illumed our darkest hours, And cheered us on life's toilsome way, And gemmed our paths with flowers. 'The sacred prayers our Mothers said In days of auld lang syne, Have ever kept us in the right . Since days of auld lang syne.
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POMPEY CENTENNIAL ADDRESSES.
Here we have met, here we may part, To meet on earth no more ; And some may never see again The cherished homes of yore ; The sportive plays and pleasant days Of childhood's auld lang syne- We ne'er shall meet to know again Those joys of auld lang syne.
But when we've crossed the sea of life And reached the heavenly shore, We'll sing the songs our fathers sing, Transcending those of yore ; 'We there shall sing diviner strains Than those of auld lang syne ; Immortal songs of praise, unknown In days of auld lang syne.
Retrospect.
ESTHER A. CLAPP DORWIN.
Home again ! Instead of drinking in the "pure elixir" of Old Pompey's air, we breathe the stifling air of the Saline City.
From the crest of Pompey Hill, to the noisy, dusty, busy city on the plain, is but a few hours' ride; and yet a change so marked, strikes one with a bewildering sense of loneliness, and isolation. It is a transition so sudden, that one is inclined to wonder if indeed the events of the past three days were real, or only beautiful pictures of the mind; and memories of our girlhoods' home.
June 21 as the guests of our friend Mr. Mason, we climbed the far-famed, historical hills of Old Pompey. Through daisy-decked paths we wound our way; beneath towering maples we rested 'till we reached the summit of the famous hill. Then "looking backward" a pano- rama of ever changing beauty met our eye. Here an emerald green field, and there an expanse of yellow but- ter-cups; and again "black-eyed Susans" and "bouncing Betts" reared their heads as if in solemn mockery of all my girlish dreams and mature experiences. I forgot the present and reveled in the past. I forgot too, the lapse of time; and there "with the silver touch of many years
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POMPEY CENTENNIAL ADDRESSES.
upon my brow" I sat and pondered. Whither were we going ? Up to the temple of the " New Jerusalem" to worship ?
Surely old things have passed away and the solemn old church where our fathers "wrestled with God" must have become a thing of the past. Soon the "Centennial Church" appeared before us, looking just as youthful, standing on the well kept green, as half a century ago; when with Miss Rand (of blessed memory ) as my teacher, I stum- bled through my seven verses; which had been carefully studied while sitting on a moss covered log in my father's "sap-bush." Ah ! these were patient teachers in those days and no "pass cards" were required to pass us on "up higher." A few pleasant words from our teacher and we were promoted to a seat in a pew occupied by Mr. Steb- bins' class, the worthy preceptor of the Academy.
I entered the "inner sanctuary" and looking upon the high-backed seats, thought with satisfaction "no change;" but passing on the choir met my eye, sitting where years ago I sat and tried to keep still with the eye of the assem- bled multitude upon me. A new organ graced the cor- ner where years ago Mr. Marsh shook his hoary head at Fanny Baker and myself, if perchance our tongues "wag- ged" too audibly or our hands were too busy. The green blinds in the rear of the pulpit were gone, and a sacred memorial window cast its clear, bright light upon the speaker, where once there seemed but a dim, wierd shadow. In memory of Cousin Charles ! A name I reverenced as a child. Thanks to the far off sons who thus in this old church keep his memory ever green.
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RETROSPECT.
Flowers and ferns from the hillside, beautiful plants and soft green mosses covered all the plainness of the pulpit and chancel rail. The energy and thrift of Old Pompey's sons and daughters were visible in the improve- ments. A modern parlor and kitchen in the rear, told where our physical feast would be given us "without money and without price," while the row of whitened heads in the pulpit gave promise of a feast for the soul at the same rate. In neither were we disappointed. The words of wisdom and the sweet tones of a heartfelt welcome to these Centennial festivities will echo and re-echo in our hearts as we go down the "dim aisles of the future."
And that dinner! Language fails to describe the lus- cious feast. If " the way to a man's heart be through a man's palate," surely the fair maidens and large hearted matrons found a straight road to the hearts of our sons and husbands.
But the last meeting came. Prayers and touching words were uttered; voices attuned to sweetest music sang, "Who will tell the story when Old Pompey's sons are gone." Those who made this celebration of the organization of the society one hundred years ago such a success, will tell the story "over and over again" and sitting by their firesides long winter evenings, will tell to their children's children how we came from tle city, hillsides and plain, to rejoice together in the quaint old country church and to thank God that we have lived till 1896. With moistened eyes and fervent hand-shakes we parted-Good-byes were said
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POMPEY CENTENNIAL ADDRESSES.
by those who had been friends from childhood, and as we turned away, we murmured-
" The way is short my friends That reaches out before us ; God's tender lieaven above us bends, His love is smiling o'er us. A little while is ours, For sorrow or for laughter ; Then I'll clasp my hand in yours, On the shores of the ' Hereafter.' "
Syracuse, June 25th, 1896.
FINIS.
...
1796. 1896.
CENTENNIAL
Of the Organization of the First Congre- gational Church, at Pompey,
JUNE 21ST-23RD 1896.
AULD LANG SYNE.
S HOULD auld acquaintance be forgot, And never brought to mind ? Should auld acquaintance be forgot, And days of auld lang syne ? For auld lang syne we meet to-day, For auld Lang syne; To tread the paths our fathers trod In days of auld lang syne.
We've passed through many varied scenes, Since youth's unclouded day ; And friends, and hopes, and happy dreams, Time's hand hath swept away. And voices that once joined with ours, In days of auld lang syne, Are silent now, and blend no more, In songs of auld lang syne.
Yet ever has the light of hope, Illumed our darkest hours, And cheered us on life's toilsome way, And gemmed our paths with flowers. The sacred prayers our Mothers said In days of auld lang syne, Have ever kept us in the right Since days of auld lang syne.
Here we have met, here we may part, To meet on earth no more; And some may never see again The cherished homes of yore: The sportive plays and pleasant days Of childhood's auld lang syne- We ne'er shall meet to know again Those joys of auld lang syne.
But when we've crossed the sea of life And reached the heavenly shore, We'll sing the songs our fathers sing, Transcending those of yore; We there shall sing diviner strains Than those of auld lang syne; Immortal songs of praise, unknown In days of auld lang syne.
Words by Dr. Richard F. Stevens, as written for and sang at the Pompey Reunion, June 29th, 1871.
With compliments of the Author.
1796. 1896.
CENTENNIAL
Of the Organization of the First Congre- gational Church, at Pompey,
JUNE 21ST-23RD 1896.
AULD LANG SYNE.
S HOULD auld acquaintance be forgot, And never brought to mind ? Should auld acquaintance be forgot, And days of auld lang syne ? For auld lang syne we meet to-day, For auld Lang syne; To tread the paths our fathers trod In days of auld lang syne.
We've passed through many varied scenes, Since youth's unclouded day ; And friends, and hopes, and happy dreams, Time's hand hath swept away. And voices that once joined with ours, In days of auld lang syne, Are silent now, and blend no more, In songs of auld lang syne.
Yet ever has the light of hope, Illumed our darkest hours, And cheered us on life's toilsome way, . And gemmed our paths with flowers. The sacred prayers our Mothers said In days of auld lang syne, Have ever kept us in the right Since days of auld lang syne.
Here we have met, here we may part, To meet on earth no more; And some may never see again The cherished homes of yore: The sportive plays and pleasant days Of childhood's auld lang syne- We ne'er shall meet to know again Those joys of auld lang syne.
But when we've crossed the sea of life And reached the heavenly shore, We'll sing the songs our fathers sing, Transcending those of yore; We there shall sing diviner strains Than those of auld lang syne; Immortal songs of praise, unknown In days of auld lang syne.
Words by Dr. Richard F. Stevens, as written for and sang at the Pompy Reunion, Jane 29th, 1871.
With compliments of the Author.
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