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

Sometimes, I ween, the Master smiled—There budded in his eyes a glowWhich on his lips bloomed sweet and slowTo win a little child.

And when the morning breeze he quaffedAfter a quiet night of prayer,Ah, then, for zest of joy most rarePerchance the Master laughed!

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AMONG THE CHURCHES
May 22, 1909
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