[Written for the Sentinel]

Sorrow Vanquished

The gate of sorrow swings upon its hinge,
And as it sways with every load of fear
Or gentle waft of joy's expectancy,
I see the Christ beyond, and fain would reach
The outstretched arms in wide entreaty spread.
Oh, tender voice! that moves nor breath nor chord
Upon the broken harp, but with sweet strains
Dispels all weariness and wakes to light
The eyes that long in Stygian night were closed.
Oh, gracious hope! that knows no backward glance,
But points me forward to untasted joys
Of sweet contentment and of untold bliss.
Oh, Love of loves! that reachest out so far
That not one straying lamb miss thine embrace
If e'er so be he longeth for the fold.

Meantime the gate of sorrow creaks and groans,
While sinners stand without and joy within.
Open, thou rust-grown door! True desire
Is needed only to transform these bars
To silvern strings as fine as gossamer,
So light, so frail, that faith's white hand shall touch
Their brightness in the dark, and I shall she
Only the Christ in all his purity!

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"Strait is the gate"
March 20, 1915

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