[Written for the Sentinel]

"Thou art ever-present"*

Out o'er a blood-stained field I wander far,
To succor one I love and bring him home,
Repeating still, through pain and death and war,
"Thy kingdom come."

Upon a storm-tossed deep, where night winds play
To drive my slender craft from harbor-home,
Terrors above, beneath, yet still I pray,
"Thy kingdom come,"—

Then wake from mortal dreams and smile again,
For sleeping I did wander, yet am home,
Where I can sing amid the seeming pain,
"Thy kingdom come."

No storm endures this waking, and no hate
Can hold man's consciousness outside its home;
No tears survive, though long perchance we wait:
"Thy kingdom come."

*Science and Health, p. 16.

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