Poem April 16, 1910 Issue

[Written for the Sentinel.]

RECOMPENSE

MARY J. ELMENDORF,

My hands that were reaching so eagerly out
Have closed on the hilt of a star;
My eyes that were scanning the waters of doubt
Have visioned the harbor afar.

My heart that sickened of shadow and greed,
That wearied of wantons of woe,
Has found the road to the distant mead
Where the roses with radiance glow.

Tired, I turn from the toiling throng
And the harvests of gloom they glean.
Oh, the wind of the heights in my face is strong
With the sweetness of things unseen!

In the silence of thought a lamp I clutch,
A glistening, wonderful globe,
And, laved in its glory, I kneel to touch
The hem of the seamless robe.

Enjoy 1 free Sentinel article or audio program each month, including content from 1898 to today.

Send a comment to the editors
NEXT IN THIS ISSUE
Article
I would suggest to this critic, before he again "lifts the...
April 16, 1910
Contents

We'd love to hear from you!

Easily submit your testimonies, articles, and poems online.

Submit