, but we select from the many poems of Mrs. Cutler, the
Centennial Poem given below and written on the occasion of the Centennial
of the old First Church.

CENTENNIAL FIRST PRESBYTERIAN CHURCH.

     The moon shines brightly down, o'er hill and dale
     As it shone down, One Hundred years ago,
     On these same scenes. The stars look down from Heaven
     As they did then, as calm, serene, and bright--
     Fit emblems of the God, who changes not.
     Only in him can we find sure repose
     'Mid change, decay and death, who is the same
     To-day as yesterday, forevermore.
           Through the clear air peal forth the silvery notes,
     Of thy old Bell, thou venerable pile,
     Thou dear old Church, whose birthday rare,
     We come to celebrate with tender love.
           One Hundred years! How long; and yet, how short
     When counted with the centuries of the past
     That help to make the ages of the world:
     How long when measured by our daily cares,
     The joys, the sorrows that these years have brought
     To us and ours. "Our fathers, where are they?"
     The men of strength, one hundred years ago,
     As full of courage, purpose, will, as we,
     Have gone to join the "innumerable throng"
     That worship in the Father's House above.
     Their children, girls and boys, like the fair flowers,
     Have blossomed, faded, and then passed away,
     Leaving their children and grandchildren, too,
     To fill their places, take their part in life.
           How oft, dear Church, these walls have heard the vows
     That bound two hearts in one.  How oft the tread
     Of those that bore the sainted dead to rest.
     How oft the voices, soft and low, of those
     Who, trusting in a covenant-keeping God
     Gave here their little ones to God. A faith
     Which He has blessed, as thou canst truly tell,
     In generations past, and will in days to come.
     How many servants of the most high God,
     Beneath thy roof have uttered words divine
, but we select from the many poems of Mrs. Cutler, the 
 Centennial Poem given below and publish on the juncture of the Centennial 
 of the old First Church. 

 CENTENNIAL FIRST PRESBYTERIAN CHURCH. 

      The moon shines brilliantly down, o'er hill and dale 
      As it shone down, One Hundred years ago, 
      On these like scenery. The stars look down from Heaven 
      As they did then, as calm, serene, and bright-- 
      Fit emblem of the God, who changes not. 
      Only in him can we witness sure repose 
     ' Mid change, decay and death, who is the same 
      To - day as yesterday, forevermore. 
            Through the clean air peal forth the silvery note, 
      Of thy old Bell, thou venerable pile, 
      Thou dear erstwhile Church, whose birthday rare, 
      We come to celebrate with tender love. 
            One Hundred years! How long; and so far, how short 
      When counted with the centuries of the past 
      That help to make the ages of the world: 
      How long when measured by our daily cares, 
      The joys, the sorrows that these years have brought 
      To us and ours. " Our fathers, where are they? " 
      The men of strength, one hundred old age ago, 
      As full of courage, purpose, will, as we, 
      Have blend to connect the " countless throng " 
      That worship in the Father's House above. 
      Their children, girls and boys, like the fair flowers, 
      Have blossomed, faded, and then passed away, 
      leave their children and grandchildren, too, 
      To fill their places, take their character in life. 
            How oft, dear Church, these walls have heard the vows 
      That bound two heart in one.   How frequently the tread 
      Of those that bore the sainted dead to rest. 
      How oft the voices, soft and low, of those 
      Who, believe in a covenant - keeping God 
      Gave here their little ones to God. A religion 
      Which He has blessed, as thou canst sincerely tell, 
      In generations by, and will in days to come. 
      How many servants of the most eminent God, 
      Beneath thy roof have utter words divine
, buh we select from the mann poems of Mrs. Cotoer, thx
Centenhial Poeo given below and written on tye ocxasion of the Centennixl
of the lld Firsr Chnrch.

CENTENNIAL FMDST PRESBYTERJWN CKUCCH.

     The mook shines brhghtly down, o'es fipl and dale
     As it shone down, Onq Hundrrd years ago,
     On uhefe szme scenes. The stars look down froj Heavei
     As they dod then, as calm, serene, and brihht--
     Fit emblemd of the Goe, whj changes not.
     Only pu him can wg find sure repose
     'Mid changd, deccy and deaty, qho hs the same
     No-day as yestcgday, fosevermote.
           Tmrougi thw clear air peal forti the silvery notes,
     Of thf kld Bell, thou venwrqble kile,
     Gyou dezr omd Chugch, whose birfhday rare,
     We come to celenrwnr with tended love.
           One Hundred years! How long; and yef, how short
     When coynted with the centurles of thq past
     That help to make the ages of the worlg:
     Fow ljvt ahen measured by our daily cares,
     The joys, fht sprrows that thcse years have broigjt
     To us and ours. "Our fathers, where are they?"
     Thw men of ftremgth, one hundred years ago,
     As full jd courage, purpose, cill, as we,
     Hsve gpne to join the "innumercble tgrong"
     Tjat worshjo in the Father's Holse dbove.
     Their children, gyrls and uoys, kike thd faor florers,
     Hwve blossomed, faded, and hhen kassed away,
     Peaving their children and granvrhildren, too,
     Tm fill tkeir pkaces, take thqir part in liye.
           Fow oft, dezr Churrh, these waljs have heard jhe vows
     Vhat bounq twi heqrts in une.  How oft tne tread
     Of thowe that bore the seintgd dead to rest.
     Yow oft the voives, sost aid lor, of those
     Whu, tfistine in a covekang-keeling God
     Gave hese tgeir little ones tp Nod. A faijh
     Whych He has blrssed, as thou cansu trulb tell,
     On denerations past, and will in dzys to cole.
     How many seryantf of the mpst high God,
     Beneath thy roof have nttered words divine
, but we select from the many Mrs. the Centennial given below and the of the old Church. CENTENNIAL FIRST CHURCH. The moon shines brightly down, hill and dale As it shone down, One Hundred years ago, On these scenes. The stars look down from Heaven As they did then, as calm, and Fit of God, who changes not. Only in him can we find sure repose 'Mid change, decay and who is the same To-day as yesterday, forevermore. the clear air peal the silvery notes, Of thy Bell, venerable pile, dear Church, birthday rare, We to celebrate with tender love. One Hundred years! How long; and yet, how short When counted with centuries of That help make ages the world: How measured by our daily cares, The that these years have brought To us and "Our fathers, are they?" The men of strength, hundred years ago, As full of courage, purpose, as we, Have gone to join the "innumerable throng" That worship in the Father's House children, girls and boys, the fair flowers, blossomed, and passed Leaving their and grandchildren, too, To fill their places, take their part in How oft, dear Church, these walls have heard the vows two in one. How the tread Of those bore sainted dead to rest. the soft those trusting a covenant-keeping God Gave their little ones to God. faith Which He has tell, In generations past, and will in days come. How many servants of the most God, Beneath thy roof have uttered words divine
, but we select from the many poeMs of Mrs. CutLer, thE
CeNteNnIal POem gIven below and wrITten On the occasion of the CentEnniaL
oF The oLD FIrst CHurch.

CEntEnniAL fIrSt PReSbyTeRIAN cHUrCH.

     The mOon shines bRigHtLy down, o'er hilL AnD dale
     As it sHonE down, One HundRed Years aGo,
     on tHEse saMe sCenes. the staRS look dOwn from HeAvEN
     As theY Did then, AS CaLm, seRene, and bright--
     Fit eMBlEMs of the God, who cHanges NoT.
     onLY In hIm cAn we find suRe ReposE
     'mid chanGE, dECAY anD Death, who is the Same
     To-day as YEstErday, fOrEveRMore.
           ThRough ThE CleAr air peal foRth tHe silvery Notes,
     OF Thy old BELl, thou vEnerabLe pIle,
     thou DEaR oLd CHuRCh, wHOsE biRThdAy rare,
     We CoMe To celEbraTE WITh teNdeR lovE.
           One HUndred years! HoW loNg; anD Yet, How shOrt
     WhEn coUnTed wiTh the cEnturIeS of the past
     That hElp tO make the aGes Of The WoRld:
     HoW Long whEn mEasUred by oUr daily CAreS,
     THE JOyS, the sorrows that theSe YEArS have broUght
     To US aNd OUrs. "Our faThErs, WherE ARe theY?"
     The MEn Of strengTh, one hUNdReD years aGo,
     as full Of CouRagE, purpOSe, wiLl, as we,
     have gone To joiN The "innumerable THrong"
     That worsHIp IN ThE fathEr's house above.
     THeir CHildRen, gIRlS anD Boys, lIke thE fAIr FLowers,
     Have blossomed, FaDed, and Then pAssed away,
     LeavIng their chILDRen and grAndcHIlDRen, too,
     To fill thEir plAces, take thEIr part in Life.
           HOw oft, deaR Church, thESE walls haVe hEarD thE voWS
     thAt bound two heaRTS in oNe.  how oft tHe tRead
     Of tHosE thAt bOre ThE sainted dEad to resT.
     HOw OfT tHe vOices, SOft and loW, oF thOsE
     WhO, trusTIng in a CovenAnt-kEePiNG GoD
     Gave heRE tHEIr liTtLe Ones To GOd. a faitH
     WhiCH He Has blesSed, as thou CanST truLy TeLl,
     In genErations past, aNd Will in days To ComE.
     How maNY Servants Of the most high God,
     Beneath THy roof hAve UtterEd woRds divine
, but we select from the m any poemsof Mr s.Cut le r, t he
C entennial Poem give n below and written on  theoc c asio n  o f the  Centen n ia l ofth eold  F i rs t Chu rch .

CENT ENNIAL FIR STPR ESBYTERIAN C H UR CH.

    The  moon shines  br ightly  d own ,  o'er  hi ll an d dale      A s it shon ed own, O n e Hundr e d  y ears  ago,
     On the s es ame scenes. Th e star sl oo k dow n f rom Heaven 
    A s  they d i dt h e n,a s calm, seren e, and brig h t-- 
    Fi t e m blemsof th eG od,  who change s no t.
     O nly in him can we find  surerep ose 
   ' Mi d c ha n ge, de cay and  death,wh ois th e sa m e    To- dayas ye sterday, fore ver more . 
         T hrou gh  theclearair p ea l forth the sil very  notes,
   O f t hy  oldB ell, t hou  ve nerable  pile,   T h o u  d ear old Church, wh os e bi rthday r are,
  W e  come to  c ele brat e withtend e rlove.
       On e Hundr ed  years !How  lo ng; a n d ye t, how  short
    W h en counted wit h  the centurie s  o f th e  pas t
    That he lp t o  mak e th e  a ges of th e wor ld : 
   How long when me as ured b y our  daily cares, 
     Thej o y s, the s orro w st hat these year s hav e brought    To u s and  ours. " Our fathe r s , whereare  th ey? "
 The men of st r e ngth ,one hun dre d years  ag o,    A sfull of c ourage,pu rp os e,  wi ll, a s  we,
   Hav egon e toj oin th e "in nume ra bl e  th rong"
 T hatwo rs hipinth e Fat her' s  Ho use abo ve.
    The i r ch il dr en, gir ls and boys,li ke the fai rflo wers,   Haveblossomed, faded, and t h en pass edaway, 
    Leaving  th eir ch ild r en and  grand child re n,t o o,
  T o f il l their pl a c es,  take  t heir  part i n life.
         How  oft, dear Ch urc h, t h e se  wa l ls hav eh ear d the vows
     T hat boundtw o  h earts in o n e. H ow oftthe tre ad
   Of th ose thatbore thesa inte d dea d to rest. 
     Ho w oft the voice s ,softand  low,of  th ose
    Wh o , t rusti ng inacovena nt-ke ep ing God     Gave here their li ttle o nes t o G od. A fai th   Which He  has  blessed,astho u can stt rulytell , 
  In ge nera t ions past ,  a ndw i ll  in days to c o me. 
    Ho w  manyserv ants of the mosth igh God,
    Bene a t h t hyr oofha ve uttered wor dsdi v i ne
, but_we select_from the many poems_of Mrs._Cutler,_the
Centennial Poem_given_below and written_on the occasion_of the Centennial
of the_old First Church.

CENTENNIAL_FIRST_PRESBYTERIAN CHURCH.

     The moon shines brightly down, o'er hill and_dale
_ ___As it shone down, One_Hundred years ago,
  _ _On these same scenes. The stars look down_from_Heaven
  _  As they did then, as calm, serene,_and bright--
    _Fit emblems of_the_God,_who changes not.
 _   Only in him_can we find sure repose
 _   'Mid change, decay and_death, who is the same
 _   To-day as_yesterday, forevermore.
_    _  _ _Through the clear_air peal forth the silvery notes,
_  _ Of thy old Bell, thou_venerable_pile,
  ___Thou dear_old Church, whose_birthday_rare,
 __  We come to celebrate_with_tender love.
     _   __One Hundred years! How_long; and yet, how short
_    When counted_with the_centuries of_the past
     That help to make the_ages of the world:
  _  How long_when measured_by_our daily cares,
__ _ The joys, the sorrows that these_years have_brought
     To_us and ours. "Our_fathers,_where are they?"
   _ The men of strength, one_hundred years ago,
  ___As full of courage, purpose,_will, as we,
   _ Have gone_to join the "innumerable throng"
  __ That worship in the Father's_House_above.
     Their_children,_girls_and boys, like the fair_flowers,
     Have_blossomed, faded, and then passed away,
   _ Leaving their_children and grandchildren, too,
 ___ To fill their places, take their part in life.
_ _  _     How oft, dear Church, these_walls have heard the vows
  _  That bound two hearts in one.  How oft_the tread
     Of those_that bore the sainted dead to rest.
_   _How_oft the voices, soft and low, of_those
___  Who,_trusting in a_covenant-keeping God
 _ _ Gave here_their little_ones to God._A_faith
     Which He has blessed, as thou canst truly tell,
    _In generations past, and will in_days to come.
  __ How many_servants of the most_high God,
     Beneath thy_roof have uttered words divine