[Written for the Sentinel.]


With me 'twas evening in a desert place,
And hungry thoughts in a great multitude
Questioned earnestly each his neighbor's face,—
If they should not depart by slow foot-pace
Into some village to buy needful food.

E'en the disciples having speech with him
Had not the faith to ask for daily bread
Until he bade "Give," in the twilight dim,
"Ye them to eat," and loaded to the brim
Twelve baskets when the healed throng were fed.

Sweet sacred lesson! May no wilderness
Affright me, since God's bounteous love is there.
And oh, the joy, if in the patient press
Mine were the loaves and fishes He should bless
For every famished brother's liberal share.

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