[Written for the Sentinel.]

Clothed Upon

The earth was bare and dun and sere.
The saddest time of all the year.
A sodden snow patch here and there
Begrimed and soil-stained, once so fair.
There is no hope, all earth is dead;
The grass, the flowers, the birdlings fled;
The clouds are lowering dark and drear,
Shadowed the naked hillslope near;
A symbol of this Earth-life's dream
Where all things seeming, do but seem
Naked and bare, and swept by fear,
This is the mortal atmosphere.

A soft rain falling in the night,
The rosy tints of dawning light;
A gentle verdure creeping slow,
O'er hillside slope, where flowers blow.
All earth is changed. The erstwhile bare
Is covered with a garment rare;
Flowers, and grains, and creeping grass,
Seem chanting paeans as I pass.
"Clothed upon" thus too, my heart now sings,
Clothed with the robe His Spirit brings.
No more can Life or earth seem bare.
Encompassed with Love's garment fair.

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From the South
August 13, 1904

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