Poem July 12, 1913 Issue

[Written for the Sentinel.]

OBEDIENCE

MINNA MATHISON

Lord , not for bowered ease we ask
Who hark to Truth's exalted word,—
Place in the ranks, the lowliest task,
A niche where we may serve thee, Lord.
Nor would thy children ever bask
In favoring air, but where the sword
Leaps forth, till error doth unmask
Before Love's exquisite accord.

And if it be a thorny way
That leads up to the path of peace;
If better pain than pleasure may
The heart instruct, till sense dreams cease,—
We pause, we wait the voice of God,
And blossoms burst upon the rod.

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