Poem August 22, 1908 Issue

[Written for the Sentinel.]

THE SEAMLESS ROBE

BLANCHE BLOOR SCHLEPPEY

It was my hour of need. I stood alone
In my Gethsemane; and though friends kept
A vigil near me, yet I knew they slept,
And to my sighs gave back no answering moan.

Is there no human heart to soothe—not one
To share this hour? I vainly cried, and crept
Back to my cross in solitude, and wept
My tears out on the steps of sorrow's throne.

Then softly, through the gloom, I seemed to feel
The clasp of Christ's great, tender brother-hand—
So full of sweet companionship, so real,
That I its touch could not misunderstand.
And there, transformed, my earth-worn sense dared
kneel
To kiss the seamless robe, at Love's command.

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