[Written for the Sentinel.]

THE SEAMLESS ROBE

It was my hour of need. I stood aloneIn my Gethsemane; and though friends keptA vigil near me, yet I knew they slept,And to my sighs gave back no answering moan.

Is there no human heart to soothe—not oneTo share this hour? I vainly cried, and creptBack to my cross in solitude, and weptMy tears out on the steps of sorrow's throne.

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FROM OUR EXCHANGES
August 22, 1908
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