[Written for the Sentinel.]


I stood reflective at the gate of day—
What is the record of thy heart, my friend,
And whither doth its deepest purpose tend?
Shadowed about me in a cloud of gray,
But swifter than my thought, a sunlight ray
Pierced the chill cloud my glad reply to send,
The mists transfigured did but echo lend
And say, Upward and onward, in God's way!
The preparation of the heart and word,
Of answer to the constant call of Love,
Still at the pure baptismal font are heard,
For both come ever from our God, whose dove
Descendeth daily on the good preferred,
Showing His well-belov'd the bliss above.

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