[Written for the Sentinel.]

DAWN

O Thou whose splendors die not, Thou whose beamQuickens the pulse of worship, and whose graceoverflows when human sense descries the faceOf evening sunlit clouds, or the first gleamBreaks a new dawn which pales the sullied dreamOf night,—speak Thou to us, that we may trace,When emblematic senses interlaceOur thoughts, immortal meanings. All that seemsEarthly in our conception, let it fade!Thus brighter hues become the flowers we love,And sweeter odors all their cups pervade.Celestial be the sun that shines above,Passion and pride of flesh in us subdued.By Christ's own spirit evermore imbued!

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FROM OUR EXCHANGES
August 31, 1912
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