Poem October 19, 1912 Issue

[Written for the Sentinel.]

GROWTH

EVELYN SYLVESTER KNOWLES.

The lowly floweret growing at my feet
Lifts trustingly its face toward the light,
By sweet reflection groweth ever bright
And brighter, and its breath more pure and sweet,
No eye beholds it in this lone retreat;
From all save One, its beauty hidden quite,
As hides yon beaming star the cloud of night;
Yet smiling on, it lives its lifetime fleet.

Shall man, then, of mankind seek plaudits vain,
Or strive for tawdry vanities that please
But for a moment? Or for stupid gain
That hurts instead of helps? Look not for ease
Or hardship in the growth toward heaven's goal.
As flowers grow, such be our growth toward Soul.

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