[Written for the Sentinel.]

SONGS OF JOY

When swept death's sable pinionsAcross my love-lit skies,My harp was hushed to silence,While tear mists veiled my eyes.

At last, with hopeless fingersThat groped among its strings,I woke the tones that onlyTo weeping memory clings.

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The human mind is trained to limitation
April 27, 1912
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