Poem March 21, 1914 Issue

[Written for the Sentinel]

Eventide

EMILY HOUSEHOLDEE

Weary of trying to soar,
Weary of flying and falling,
Nestlings are coming once more
Home to the mother-love's calling.

Home where the sore wounded wing
May be healed for the morrow's flight,
Home for the uplift to sing
New praise for the passing of night.

Weary of scaling the mount,
Weary of riotous leaping,
Back to the vale's cooling fount
The thirsty hart slowly is creeping.

O heart's intent and desire!
Plumed for the far sunlit peak,
Baffled 'twixt crag and the mire,
New life and freshening seek

Where there's no dawn or even,
Searing gust or burning ray,—
Only the peaceful haven
Of Soul's encloistered way.

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