Poem October 12, 1907 Issue

OCTOBER

E. E.

What radiance lies on every side!
The mellow earth is crowned
With golden promise multiplied,
From farthest bound to bound.

The hills have caught the sunset glow;
The woods are all aflame,
Oh, come, my friend! and let us go
The way the glory came,—

Up, up, into the heart of things,
Upon the mount, with God!
There, listening to the stir of wings,
We're risen above the sod!

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