[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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