Poem November 7, 1914 Issue

[Written for the Sentinel]

Hymn of Praise

EDGAR NEWGASS

O UNIVERSAL Love, though far we stray,
Uncomforted and sad, from thy clear way,
Thou followest to soothe who are in pain,
And make them whole, and lead them home again.

No man e'er joys, and none can breathe or see,
Or work or play, but does so unto Thee.
Thy holy mountain! Oh, did we below,
Who struggle with foul dreams—did we but know

No shame, no evil, no untoward alarm
Could ever frighten or make sick or harm;
Naught would there be from which to seek release,
Naught is there now, but Thou and Thy great peace.

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November 7, 1914
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