[Written for the Sentinel.]


Again the faces of the careless throng
At Ephesus I see;
Again I feel the clutching sense of wrong,
Again Love comforts me.

The wild beasts rush upon me through the door,
A moment stand at bay,
I hear the crashing thunders of their roar—
O Love, be now my stay!

But what avails that I with beasts have fought,
That they, not I, were slain.
If at the journey's end we come to naught,
Nor rise to life again?

Beloved, endeavor is not futile, though
We pass from earth uncrowned;
Against the impulse of Life's onward flow
Death sets in vain its bound.

Enjoy 1 free Sentinel article or audio program each month, including content from 1898 to today.

October 13, 1906

We'd love to hear from you!

Easily submit your testimonies, articles, and poems online.