[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.

From the South
August 13, 1904

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