“The Passing of Nineteen Hundred and Twelve”

Mother Agnes O’Flynn was mother superior of the Ursuline Sisters of Mount Saint Joseph from 1920-28. Among her papers was this ode to the passing of 1912. As the Ursuline Sisters conclude 2012, the 100th year of their existence as an independent community, this seems fitting to share.

“The Passing of Nineteen Hundred and Twelve”

O Nineteen Twelve

We love thee well!

‘Tis hard to part

From thy dear heart;

‘Tis sad to see

Thee old and gray,

Resign thy throne

To New Year’s Day.

Our tears now flow

To see thee go

To join the tide

Of ages wide,

The ages gone before.


Yes, Nineteen Twelve

We love thee well;

This New Year’s Eve

Before you leave

Our earth forever more,

We pause to count

The great among

Of Heavenly gifts

Thy hand bestowed

Our convent home.

One year ago

We asked of you,

O New Year bright

What will we pray

The future be?

You answered not,

But pointed up

To Him who rules above.

“O trust in Him

This God of love

Who knoweth all

His children’s needs,

And e’en the birds

Doth sweetly feed.”

We trusted Him

And ah! He heard

Our every prayer

And sent His blessings

Rich and rare.

Dear Nineteen Twelve

As now we dwell

Upon thy days

Sweet Mercy’s Ways

We plainly see

At Maple Mount;

We cannot count

His gifts of love –

We look around;

From barn to cellar

Doth abound

A harvest rich –

O see the hay –

The stock at bay –

The splendid meat,

And what a treat

Of beans and peas –

And if you please

Good sauerkraut –

Potatoes too,

We owe to you.


Dear Nineteen Twelve

And how we prize

The concrete walks

Upon our grounds;

No better sure

Can there be found –

In country round –

We thank for health

(‘Tis more than wealth)

For school and convent, too.


But oh! Best gift

We proudly lift

To God in grateful praise –

Our banner bright –

Our own birthright –

Our Independence Day.

Yes, Nineteen Twelve

We love thee well

For this best gift

Of all the years.


We joy to see

In Christmas glee

The dear white wings

Go flitting ‘round –

They, too, are gifts

We owe to thee

Dear Nineteen Twelve.

Our chaplain, too,

So good and true

We prize among

Your best of gifts.

Our Christmas Feast –

Profession Day;

Eleven brides

To serve always

The God of Love.


O blessings rich

O blessings rare

Of Nineteen Twelve!

No wonder that

We love thee well!