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Poem May 22, 1909 Issue

Sometimes, I ween, the Master smiled—...

Amy Ruth Wenzel

Sometimes, I ween, the Master smiled—
There budded in his eyes a glow
Which on his lips bloomed sweet and slow
To win a little child.

And when the morning breeze he quaffed
After a quiet night of prayer,
Ah, then, for zest of joy most rare
Perchance the Master laughed!

Amy Ruth Wenzel.

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