To W. W. Browne Poem by James Ephraim McGirt

Pray, listen brethren, while I speak,
I speak of loving father Browne;
In vain another you may seek,
Yet not another can be found.
No, not on this wide circled earth
Has such man received his birth.

A tender father loved by all;
Oh, how we miss his loving voice;
Though for his death our tears do fall
Still in his work we do rejoice,
Because it was so kind and free,
A blessing unto you and me.

A father whom our God did love,
And when He saw his work was done
He called him to His home above,
To wear the great crown he had won.
Even though He called him from our sight,
Still we behold his brilliant light.

Think how he suffered, how he toiled,
And how the sweat ran from his face,
So hard he sought and prayed for wisdom,
That he might aid and lift his race,
To teach them of a brother's care,
A brother's burden how to share.

Where're he heard the sick man groan,
The widow, orphans, cry for bread,
He went with helping hands to loan,
He said these people must be fed.
He gave his life for those distressed,
Our God was pleased, his hand was blessed.

Farewell, fond soul and take thy rest,
Thy voice on earth will sound no more;
We will obey thy last request,
We'll meet thee on the other shore;
There we in perfect peace will dwell,
Dear father Browne farewell, farewell.