[Written for the Sentinel]


"My meat," the Saviour said,
"Is to obey."
No other way
Can I be fed.

Obedience, that is all,
To voice divine;
Supply's then mine.
Oh, bounteous call!

Always God's calling me
In tender tone;
Him will I own
And loyal be.

No irksome servitude
To me, but this 
"Unfolding bliss"
"Miscellaneous Writings," page 83. Is heaven's prelude.

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