[Written for the Sentinel.]

Springtide in the Heart

In silence tender, magic, deft,The hand of Love transforms the earth,'Till not a barren twig is leftTo mar the joys of life's new birth.

Upturned is every earthy clod,And rising from beneath are seenBright flowers rare, sweet thoughts of God;And hills and fields are clothed in green.

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April 1, 1905
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