To Mother

This is God's sweet Eastertide.
May His peace with you abide,
And His angels, stooping low
Protect you from every foe.
As the angels, so we ought
To carry with us a sweet thought
Of Truth, love, peace, and harmony,
To think of others, not of "me;"
So, with kindness, we must go,
Demonstrating love below.

Dear Sentinel:— Enclosed is a little poem which was handed to me last week by the mother of one of our Sunday School children, and considering that the little fellow who wrote it is only eleven years old, it seemed to me very good. It was his Easter gift to his mother. When she read it to me I was very much pleased and thought with a little explanation of the child's age it might be all right for publication.—Abigail D. Thompson.

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Testimony of Healing
Testimony of a Commercial Traveller
May 24, 1900

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