[Written for the Sentinel]


It was only a drop of dewThat watered the heart of a rose ;But the rose bloomed out her gracious span,A thing of beauty and praise for man,In her fragrant garden close.

It was only the song of a birdBy her nest in the spreading tree;But the song that brust from the tiny breastDispelled the gloom of a heart oppressed,And set new gladness free.

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