Poem August 29, 1901 ISSUE

Brotherhood

E. S. Martin

That plenty but reproaches meWhich leaves my brother bare,Not wholly glad my heart can beWhile his is bowed with care.If I go free, and sound and stoutWhile his poor fetters clank,Unsated still, I still cry out,And plead with Whom I thank.

Almighty: Thou who Father beOf him, of me, of all,Draw us together, him and me,That whichsoever fall,The other's hand may fail him not—The other's strength declineNo task of succor that his lotMay claim from son of Thine.

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A Lesson from Truth
August 29, 1901
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