[Written for the Sentinel]

Sorrow Vanquished

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

NEXT IN THIS ISSUE
Editorial
"Strait is the gate"
March 20, 1915
Contents

We'd love to hear from you!

Easily submit your testimonies, articles, and poems online.

Submit